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JOHN    PARMELEE'S 

CURSE 


BY 


JULIAN    HAWTHORNE. 

AUTHOR     OF     "  BEATRIX    RANDOLPH,'    "  DUST,"    "  FOR- 
TUNE'S  FOOL,"     "GARTH,"    '•  SEBASTIAN 
STROME,"     ETC.,     ETC. 


>  )       )        >     J 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  Limited, 
739  &  741  Broadway,  New  York. 


Copyright, 

1886, 

By  O.  M.   DUNHAM. 


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All  rights  reserved. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 


I. 


WHAT  had  become  of  John  Parmelee? 
The  table  had  been  set  for  supper  half 
an  hour  ago,  and  the  supper  itself  was  keeping 
warm  in  the  kitchen  ;  but  John  had  not  returned. 
All  men  are  not  punctual ;  but  those  who  are 
punctual  are  under  special  obligations  to  main- 
tain their  reputation  ;  and  John,  whatever  his 
other  faults,  had  the  reputation  of  being  as 
punctual  as  a  pendulum. 

He  was  now  about  forty-five  years  of  age. 
Man  and  boy,  he  had  spent  his  life  in  the  little 
town  of  Tisdale.  He  was  the  son  of  a  poor 
clergyman,  and  had  attended  the  local  school 
until  he  was  fourteen.  His  father  had  cher- 
ished the  ambition  of  sending  him  to  college, 
but  the  good  man  died,  and  John  was  left 
mainly  to  his  own  resources. 

m27()63 


10  JOim  PARMELEE'S  CVRSE. 

He  was  a  clever  and  pleasant  boy,  somewhat 
inclined  to  fun  and  frolic,  but  honest  and  truth- 
ful, and  possessed  of  a  good  knowledge  of 
accounts,  and  aptitude  for  business.  A  friend 
of  his  father,  a  director  of  the  Tisdale  Bank, 
gave  him  a  position  as  office  boy  in  that  time- 
honored  institution.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  John's  career. 

From  office  boy  he  was  promoted  to  be 
junior  clerk.  There  were  five  clerkships,  and, 
one  after  another,  John  filled  them  all.  Some- 
times the  promotion,  sometimes  the  dismissal, 
sometimes  the  death  of  the  several  incumbents 
opened  the  way  to  the  younger  man's  succes- 
sion ;  but  he  always  deserved  what  he  got,  and 
nobody  grudged  it  to  him.  And  when,  at  last, 
after  fifteen  years'  service,  he  rose  to  the  import- 
ant position  of  cashier  of  the  bank,  every 
body  felt  it  to  be  the  proper  reward  of  his  faith- 
ful and  honorable  apprenticeship. 

He  was  not  only  a  trustworthy  servant  of  the 
bank,  but  he  was  a  great  social  favorite  as  well. 
John  Parmelee  had  a  fine  musical  talent,  a  gift 
of  mimicry,  and  a  sense  of  humor.  His  voice 
was  a  rich  baritone,  his  face  was  'winning  and 


JOHN  PA RMELEE  'S  CURSE.  1 1 

handsome,  his  bearing  manly  and  unpretend- 
ing. As  soon  as  you  met  him  you  began  to 
like  him,  and  on  a  better  acquaintance  he 
inspired  affection.  He  was  born  to  be  popular, 
and  yet  he  was  a  model  of  business  regularity 
and  method. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Tisdale  thought  highly 
of  him.  He  was  the  soul  and  inspiration  of 
the  picnics,  of  the  sociables,  of  the  glee  clubs, 
and  of  the  amateur  theatricals.  He  could 
imitate  the  leading  political  orators  and  lec- 
turers of  the  day  in  a  manner  so  truthful  and 
yet  so  comic  as  to  convulse  his  hearers  with 
laughter.  If  he  ascended  the  desk  at  a  charity 
fair  auction,  the  goods  sold  by  his  humorous 
and  persuasive  tongue  brought  their  full  value. 
Wherever  he  went  mirth  and  good  humor  went 
with  him  ;  only  at  his  desk  in  the  bank  was  he 
grave  and  reticent.  Social  natures  like  his  are 
apt  to  be  weak  on  the  side  of  moral  principle, 
but  Parmelee,  though  not  a  professed  teeto- 
taler, was  scarce  ever  known  to  drink  a  glass  of 
wine,  and  he  smoked  not  more  than  a  couple 
of  pipes  of  tobacco  a  day.  As  for  the  darker 
vices,  he  had  no  trace  of  them. 


1 2  JOHN  PA  R  ME  LEE '  S  CURSE. 

There  seemed  to  be  only  one  thing  necessary 
to  complete  John  Parmelee's  prosperity,  and 
that  was  a  lovely  and  loving  wife. 

For  a  long  time,  however,  John  himself 
betrayed  no  symptoms  of  feeling  this  deficiency. 
He  was  agreeable  to  all  women,  old  or  young  ; 
but  to  no  one  woman  in  particular.  He  seemed 
to  prefer  the  companionship  of  children  to  that 
of  older  people,  and  certainly  all  children  loved 
him.  Impatient  critics  began  to  remark  that 
Parmelee  liked  every  body  so  well,  that  he 
would  never  care  very  much  for  any  body. 

But  (as  is  usually  the  case  with  impatient 
critics)  they  were  mistaken.  John  was  to  meet 
his  fate  like  other  men,  and  in  due  time  the 
meeting  took  place.  It  was  three  years  before 
John's  appointment  as  cashier  of  the  Tisdale 
Bank ;  he  was  then  twenty-seven. 

The  affair  occurred  in  this  way:  Old  Judge 
Blackmer,  a  former  resident  of  Tisdale,  returned 
thither  from  the  Pacific  Coast,  where  he  had 
gone  years  before  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife's 
health.  Mrs.  Blackmer  was  dead,  and  the  judge, 
with  his  two  children,  came  to  spend  his  declin- 
ing years  in  the  town  which  gave  him  birth, 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  13 

The  children  were  a  girl  and  a  boy.  The 
latter,  Harold  by  name,  was  a  dark  com- 
plexioned,  handsome,  talented  young  fellow 
some  twenty-one  years  of  age,  but  he  had  not 
been  long  in  Tisdale  before  he  became  known 
as  a  pretty  hard  character.  He  had  all  the 
vices  that  John  Parmelee  lacked,  except  that 
he,  too,  seldom  drank.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
rivaled  John  to  some  extent  in  his  social 
attractiveness.  He  dazzled  and  entertained 
the  men  and  fascinated  the  women.  They  had 
heard  that  he  was  naughty,  and  they  were  cer- 
tain that  he  was  nice.  He  was  a  dashing  rider, 
a  brilliant  talker,  and  had  any  amount  of  cool 
confidence  and  daring.  Altogether,  he  was  a 
very  common  American  type,  the  sort  of  man 
out  of  which  our  gamblers  and  adventurers  are 
evolved. 

The  daughter,  Sallie,  resembled  her  brother 
in  beauty  only.  In  nature  she  was  tender, 
sensitive  and  affectionate,  with  a  certain  refined 
and  innocent  sensuousness  which  made  her 
shrink  from  all  pain,  mental  or  physical,  and 
luxuriate  in  the  aesthetic  side  of  life.  She  was 
younger  than  Harold  by  two  years ;  she  adored 


14  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

him  as  the  noblest  of  men,  and  believed  all  the 
lies  he  told  her. 

The  judge  was  disposed  to  be  a  little  exclu- 
sive, and  it  was  some  months  before  Sallie  and 
John  Parmelee  met.  With  John  it  was  love  at 
first  sight,  and  any  body  might  have  noticed  it. 
Upon  Sallie  the  effect  was  less  clearly  legible. 
Such  things  sink  too  deeply  into  a  woman  to 
be  easily  discerned  outside. 

However,  they  met  again  and  again.  John's 
infatuation  was  a  by-word  in  the  town  ;  and,  as 
for  Sallie,  it  was  remarked  that,  if  she  did  not 
love  him,  at  any  rate  she  showed  no  signs  of 
loving  any  one  else  better. 

Meanwhile,  the  attitude  of  Harold  Blackmer 
was  observed  with  some  interest.  Would  he 
oppose  the  match,  or  would  he  favor  it?  His 
influence  with  his  sister  was  so  great  that  it  was 
thought  he  would  be  able  to  decide  the  matter 
as  he  wished.  The  old  judge  was  not  taken 
into  consideration  at  all.  Although  an 
eminently  respectable  personage,  he  had  nearly 
reached  the  limit  of  threescore  and  ten,  and  his 
attention  was  supposed  to  be  chiefly  occupied  by 
his  projected  History  of  the  American  Bench. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  15 

Harold,  at  first,  showed  a  disposition  to 
sneer  at  John  Parmelee.  He  called  him  a 
mountebank  and  a  usurer,  and  cast  reflections 
upon  his  birth  and  education.  But  after  a 
while,  and  without  appareut  cause,  he  changed 
his  tone.  He  praised  John  as  a  man  of  genius 
and  a  true  American,  and  declared  that  the  girl 
would  be  lucky  who  should  call  him  husband. 

Such  being  the  case,  no  one  was  surprised 
when  the  engagement  of  Sallie  Blackmer  to 
John  Parmelee  was  announced.  No  one,  that 
is,  except  the  old  judge,  who  forthwith  made  it 
known  that  the  marriage  between  John  and 
Sallie  should  not  take  place  until  the  former 
should  have  achieved  a  position  befitting  an 
alliance  so  much  beyond  his  station. 

John  accepted  the  situation  with  his  wonted 
good  humor  and  enterprise.  He  worked  hard, 
and  in  two  years  from  the  date  of  the  engage- 
ment he  was  appointed  cashier  of  the  bank. 
The  judge  then  gave  a  reluctant  consent  to  the 
nuptials  ;  but  a  week  afterward  he  died,  with 
his  great  history  still  in  its  early  chapters,  and 
with  scarce  any  available  funds  in  his  bank 
account.     He  had  been  living  on  his  capital. 


l6  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

When  the  house  and  furniture  had  been  sold, 
and  the  debts  paid,  there  remained  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars,  of  which  Harold  got  ten  and 
Sallie  five.  Sallie  and  John  were  married,  and 
Harold  took  up  his  quarters  in  a  couple  of 
rooms  in  Parmelee's  house. 

This  house  was  a  part  of  the  bank  building, 
and  communicated  with  the  bank  office  by  means 
of  an  iron  door,  of  which  the  cashier  kept  the 
key.  Such  an  arrangement  is  not  uncommon 
in  small  towns ;  and  of  course  implied  that  the 
bank  had  unlimited  confidence  in  its  cashier. 

For  a  time  all  went  well.  Then  there  began 
to  be  rumors  of  dissensions  between  the 
brothers  in  law.  Nothing  official  could  be 
learned  on  the  subject  ;  but  there  can  be  no 
harm  in  stating,  here,  that  Harold  fell  into  the 
habit  of  frequently  borrowing  sums  of  money 
from  John,  and  not  repaying  them  ;  that  John 
finally  protested  ;  that  Sallie  thought  her  hus- 
band was  too  harsh  ;  and  that  repeated  family 
jars  were  the  result. 

They  culminated  at  last  in  Harold's  leaving 
Parmelee's  house  and  betaking  himself  (as  was 
supposed)  to  New  York,     He  left  a  rather  maU 


JOHX  PARMELEE ' S  CURSE.  1 7 

odorous  reputation  behind  him,  though  many- 
persons  still  declared  him  to  be  a  fine  fellow. 
Others  affirmed  that  he  was  even  guilty  of  dis- 
honesty, and  would  surely  end  badly. 

At  all  events,  it  was  from  this  point  that  John 
Parmelee's  misfortunes  began.  A  few  weeks 
after  Harold's  departure,  Mrs.  Parmelee  was 
taken  ill,  and  a  daughter  was  born  prematurely. 
The  child  lived,  but  the  mother's  health  was 
seriously  impaired.  She  did  not  leave  her  bed 
for  several  months  ;  the  child,  too,  was  ailing. 
When  the  mother  got  about  again,  she  suffered 
so  much  nervous  pain  that  her  physicians  pre- 
scribed small  doses  of  morphia.  The  pain  was 
gradually  relieved  ;  and  John,  always  hopeful, 
began  to  think  that  his  trials  were  near  their 
end. 

Herein  he  was  egregiously  mistaken.  Worse 
— much  worse  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of — 
was  in  store  for  him. 


II. 


THE  tragic  passage  of  John  Parmelee's  life 
did  not  come  immediately,  however. 
They  were  preceded  by  a  period  of  compara- 
tive peace  and  happiness.  Human  existence  is 
full  of  these  contrasts,  which  seem  almost 
deh'berately  artistic  in  their  merciless  light  and 
shade. 

Mrs.  Parmelee  gave  little  tea  parties  once  a 
week,  which  were  attended  by  the  best  people 
in  town.  John's  dramatic  capabilities  were 
brought  into  play  ;  his  wife  played  and  sang  an 
accompaniment  to  his  songs:  the  evening  gen- 
erally ended  with  a  little  dance,  and  everybody 
went  away  delighted.  The  young  couple  were 
in  great  social  demand,  and  could  have  gone 
out  every  night  in  the  week  if  they  had  wished 
to.  They  were  the  cause  of  unwonted  gayety 
in  Tisdale. 

But,  though  they  enjoyed  all  this,  they 
enjoyed  each  other's  society  best  of  all.     They 


were  never  so  well  contented  as  when  they 
were  alone  together  in  their  little  sitting  room, 
talking  over  their  affairs,  and  their  plans  and 
hope's  for  the  future. 

John — so  his  wife  declared — would  one  day- 
become  president  of  the  bank,  and  immensely 
wealthy.  Sallie  herself  would  be  a  great  lady, 
the  patroness  of  innumerable  benevolent  institu- 
tions. Their  daughters  should  all  be  fair  and 
good;  their  sons  brave  and  brilliant.  The  little 
daughter  who  had  already  come  to  them — 
Sophie  was  her  name — was  even  now  as  good 
as  so  small  a  baby  could  be  expected  to  be  ;  but 
she  was  only  the  beginning. 

*We  shall  never  have  a  daughter  so  sweet  as 
you,  though,  love  !"  John  would  say  to  his  wife ; 
and,  "we  may  have  noble  boys,  but  never  one 
to  equal  my  darling  husband  !"  Sallie  would 
reply.  The  world  seemed  kind  and  generous 
to  them,  because  they  saw  it  through  each 
other's  eyes. 

During  the  following  spring,  Sallie's  health 
again  failed  ;  she  was  not  ill  in  bed,  but  her 
nerves  were  out  of  order,  she  suffered  neuralgic 
pains,  and   the  evening  entertainments  had  to 


20  JOHN-  PARMELEES  CURSE, 

be  given  up.  John  wanted  to  consult  a  physi- 
cian, but  his  wife  refused ;  she  was  sure  she 
would  be  well   again  when  the  summer  set  in. 

Meantime,  she  resumed  her  doses  of  morphia, 
which  she  had  discontinued  during  the  winter. 
Their  immediate  effect  was  always  to  banish 
pain  and  induce  quiet  sleep.  The  matter 
seemed  so  simple  that  Sallie,  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  evil  latent  in  the  drug,  resorted  to  it 
more  and  more  often  until  she  became  uneasy 
if  a  day  passed  without  its  use. 

As  for  her  husband,  he  had  never  been  ill  in 
his  life,  and  his  knowledge  of  medicine  was 
very  limited.  But  love  sharpened  his  percep- 
tions ;  he  saw  that  his  wife's  moods  were  more 
unequal  than  they  used  to  be ;  that  she  was 
unnaturally  depressed  at  certain  times,  and  as 
unnaturally  stimulated  at  others  ;  at  last  he  put 
two  and  two  together,  and  urged  her  to  give  up 
the  use  of  her  favorite  nostrum. 

She  was  impressed  by  his  remonstrances,  and 
promised  compliance.  For  a  while  she  kept 
her  word.  But  it  was  no  such  easy  matter 
as  she  had  fancied.  The  longing  was  ever 
present  and  ever  increasing.     Sallie  had  always 


jOHY  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  21 

been  indulged  by  her  father,  and  had  never 
before  been  subjected  to  the  discipline  of  suffer- 
ing. At  length  she  was  unable  to  hold  out 
longer  against  temptation  ;  but  she  shrank  from 
openly  opposing  her  husband,  and  therefore 
resumed  her  habit  secretly. 

From  the  moment  this  concealment  began, 
the  issue  was  only  a  question  of  time.  The 
more  she  yielded,  the  greater  became  her  crav- 
ing ;  by  and  by  she  substituted  pure  opium  for 
morphia,  and  her  nervous  system  and  bodily 
functions  became  totally  deranged. 

John  Parmelee  could  not  but  notice  the 
change  in  his  wife's  aspect  and  condition.  He 
doubted,  feared  and  watched,  and  was  at  last 
confronted  with  the  revelation  that  his  beauti- 
ful and  beloved  Sallie  was  a  confirmed  opium 
eater. 

Under  the  stimulus  of  his  passionate  grief 
and  entreaties  she  once  more  strove  to  reclaim 
herself.  But  her  strength,  both  of  body  and 
mind,  was  by  this  time  seriously  impaired  ;  and 
the  effort  failed. 

Few  things  are  more  difficult  to  shake  off 
than    an    established    tyranny    of    this    kind. 


S  2  JOHN  PARMELEE  *  S  CURSE, 

Sallie's  relapse  reduced  her  to  a  more  hopeless 
state  than  ever ;  for  her  degradation  preyed 
upon  her  mind,  and  the  anguish  thus  created 
could  be  assuaged  only  by  further  indulgences. 
The  bloom  of  her  youthful  beauty  faded  and 
disappeared  ;  her  native  grace  and  charm  were 
dimmed  ;  she  became  moody  in  temper  and 
careless  in  dress.  She  would  sit,  for  hours  at  a 
time,  at  the  window,  gazing  out  into  the  street, 
saying  nothing  and  apparently  seeing  nothing. 

At  other  times,  she  would  clasp  her  baby  to 
her  bosom  and  break  forth  into  tremulous 
moans  and  sobs.  Often  she  would  stand  mut- 
tering to  herself  and  drawing  her  fingers  con- 
stantly through  her  long,  dark  hair. 

John  watched  her  and  prayed  for  her,  with 
agony  in  his  heart,  and  the  hours  which  he  was 
obliged  to  spend  at  his  desk  in  the  bank  were 
continually  haunted  by  the  dread  of  some 
calamity. 

The  calamity  came  at  last. 

One  morning,  in  the  early  dawn,  John  awoke 
suddenly  from  a  deep  sleep.  He  perceived  at 
once  that  his  wife  was  not  by  his  side.  For  a 
few  moments  he  lay  listening  intently  for  the 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  23 

sound  of  her  footsteps  in  the  outer-room,  but 
all  was  silent. 

He  got  up,  benumbed  with  fear,  and  his  eye 
fell  upon  a  fold  of  white  paper,  fastened  to  the 
pin-cushion  on  the  dressing  table.  He  unfolded 
it,  and,  carrying  it  to  the  window,  read  the  few 
heart-breaking  words  of  farewell  which  Sallic 
had  left  behind  her. 

**  My  darling  husband,"  she  wrote,  ''  you  will 
be  happier,  in  the  end,  that  I  am  gone.  I  am 
not  fit  to  be  your  wife  or  Sophie's  mother.  I 
am  not  myself ;  I  am  not  the  girl  you  married  ; 
an  evil  spirit  has  power  over  me.  You  pity  me 
now ;  soon  you  would  despise  me,  and  at  last 
you  would  hate  me.  It  is  better  to  go  before 
that  comes.  Do  not  think  that  I  shall  be  very 
miserable.  My  mind  is  too  dull  for  that,  and 
my  heart  is  too  lifeless  ;  and  then,  when  I  take 
my  opium,  all  good  and  evil  become  like  a 
dream.  I  carry  with  me  what  money  I  need 
and  the  jewels  my  mother  left  me.  Love  my 
baby  for  me  and  let  her  think  thaj  I  am  dead. 
And  so  I  shall  be,  my  darling  husband,  before 
we  m.eet  again.     Your  Sallie." 

John    Parmelee   dressed  himself   in   silence, 


24  JOn.V  PARAf ELBE'S  CURSE. 

called  the  nurse  and  bade  her  look  after  the 
baby,  Sophie  ;  packed  his  valise,  and  then  went 
to  the  house  of  the  bank  president.  That  dig- 
nitary happened  to  be  an  early  riser,  and  came 
down  in  his  dressing  gown.  John  set  his  teeth 
and  told  him  the  facts,  and  asked  for  a  month's 
leave  of  absence. 

It  was  the  first  vacation  he  had  ever  asked 
for,  and  could  not  be  refused,  though  the  presi- 
dent remarked  that  John  would  do  better  to 
put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  detectives. 
''There  can  be  no  detective  so  keen  as  a  man 
who  loves  his  wife,"  replied  Paimelee;  and 
possibly  he  was  right.  He  set  out  immediately 
and  nothing  more  was  heard  of  him  until  the 
month  had  expired. 

On  that  day  he  reappeared,  as  he  had  gone, 
alone  ;  but  he  was  no  longer  the  same  John 
Parmelee  as  formerly.  The  sunshine  and  frolic 
were  gone  out  of  him.  He  had  found  no  trace 
of  his  wife;  she  had  vanished  as  utterly  as  the 
flame  of  an  extinguished  lamp.  In  the  search 
for  her  he  had  finally  used  every  m.eans  availa- 
ble, and  had  expended  the  savings  of  his  life- 
time ;  but  all  was  in  vain.    So  the  bank  cashier 


/(9/AV  PARMELEES  CURSE.  25 

had  returned  to  his  duties  and  to  his  little 
daughter. 

It  was  the  general  belief  that  Sallie  Parme- 
lee  was  dead.  But  her  husband  would  never 
consent  to  accept  this  view.  He  always  in- 
sisted that  she  still  lived  ;  and  that  at  the  last 
— at  the  long  last — she  would  come  back  to  him. 
And  he  entertained  a  curious  suspicion  (of 
which,  however,  he  spoke  but  seldom)  that  she 
was  being  kept  out  of  sight  by  some  enemy  of 
his,  and  that  this  accounted  for  the  failure  to 
discover  her. 

But  who  was  an  enemy  of  John  Parmelee  ? 
There  was  only  one  person  who  could  possibly 
answer  that  description ;  and  that  was  his 
brother-in-law,  Harold  Blackmer.  John  men- 
tioned no  names,  however  ;  and  before  many 
months  the  entire  m.atter  ceased  to  occupy  the 
Tisdale  mind,  and  was  seldom  alluded  to  by 
any  one. 

Parmelee's  wedded  life  had  lasted  barely  five 
years,  and  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  prime  of 
manhood  ;  yet,  in  less  than  a  year  thereafter, 
he  was  already  looking  and  speaking  like  an 
elderly  man.  He  had  the  sympathy  and  respect 


26  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

of  the  community,  and  he  had  the  companion- 
ship of  his  little  Sophie  ;  but  his  loving  heart 
was  always  wandering  through  the  world  in 
quest  of  his  lost  wife.  He  did  not  become  hard 
or  bitter;  bitterness  can  have  no  part  in  such  a 
nature  as  his  ;  but  his  once  buoyant  spirit  was 
broken,  and  his  smile  suggested  tears  rather 
than  mirth. 

He  kept  to  his  duties  at  the  bank  with 
a  mechanical  regularity  and  faithfulness  that 
were  almost  painful ;  but  he  probably  found 
some  relief  in  this  application,  and  once, 
when  the  directors  offered  him  a  holiday  and 
to  pay  his  expenses  on  a  trip  abroad,  he 
thanked  them,  but  shook  his  head. 

*'  I  couldn't  get  on  without  my  work,"  he 
said ;  *'  and  besides — who  knows  ? —  while  I  was 
away,  my  Sallie  might  come  back  !  " 

He  was  sadly  changed,  indeed  ;  but  he  had 
not  reached  the  darkest  points  of  his  fortunes, 
even  yet. 


III. 


THE  baby,  Sophie  Parmelee,  grew  up  to  be 
an  old-fashioned  little  girl,  with  dark, 
wavy  hair  and  black  solemn  eyes.  She  did 
what  she  could,  as  the  years  went  by,  with  her 
small  hands  and  immense  love,  to  supply  the 
place  of  both  wife  and  daughter  to  her  father. 

He  was  fond  of  her,  and  always  gentle  and 
kind  toward  her  ;  but  he  did  not  notice  her 
much,  or  seem  to  realize  that  she  was  be- 
ginning to  have  thoughts  and  sentiments  of 
her  own.  She  was  not  a  quick  child,  and  he 
thought  her  rather  stupid.  She  went  to  school 
and  studied  her  lessons  conscientiously  ;  but 
her  teachers  gave  no  flattering  report  of  her 
intellectual  progress.  As  to  the  development 
of  her  heart  and  affections,  the  teachers  neither 
knew  nor  said  any  thing. 

Nevertheless,  after  making  all  allowances, 
there  was  a  feeling  among  John's  friends  that 
there  was  something  foreign  to  his  nature  in 


28  JOHN  PARMELEE' S  CURSE. 

his  indifference  toward  Sophie.  He  had  always 
been  fond  of  children  ;  but  for  this  child  of  his 
own  flesh  and  blood,  he  evinced  little  more 
than  a  kindly  toleration.  Could  there  be  any 
unknown  cause  at  the  bottom  of  this  behavior  ? 

His  ambition  was  gone  ;  he  never  looked  or 
hoped  beyond  the  day's  work  ;  his  vigorous 
health  declined  ;  and  all  this  might  be  ascribed 
to  the  effects  of  his  loss  ;  but,  in  addition,  some 
insidious  physical  disease  seemed  to  be  at 
work  upon  his  constitution.     What  was  it? 

When  questioned  upon  the  subject,  he 
always  declared  that  nothing  was  the  matter 
with  him. 

"  I'm  getting  older,  of  course,"  he  would  say, 
with  a  sad  laugh  ;  ''  the  youngest  of  us  is  doing 
that ;  but  I  never  was  sounder  in  my  life  !  " 
And  with  that  he  would  escape  as  speedily  as 
possible  from  his  friendly  inquisitors. 

His  friends  were  right,  however.  Something 
was  wrong  with  John  Parmelee ;  and  it  was 
something  which  the  acutest  of  them  did  not 
suspect. 

His  face  grew  pale  and  haggard  ;  his  eyes 
were  restless  and  bright  ;  he  would  start  and 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  29 

tremble  nervously  for  slight  cause  ;  and  occa- 
sionally he  would  be  caught  thinking  aloud — a 
trick  heretofore  unknown  in  him. 

But  he  uttered  no  complaint,  and  made  no 
confidence  ;  he  guarded  his  secret,  whatever  it 
was,  as  cunningly  and  anxiously  as  if  it  were 
the  bloodstain  of  a  murder.  He  believed  that 
no  one  guessed  it.  But  there  was  one  who  had 
known  it  almost  from  the  beginning ;  and  that 
one  was  the  person  whom  he  would  have  sus- 
pected last  of  all ;  the  one  who  was  nearest  to 
him  and  who  loved  him  best, — his  Tittle 
daughter  Sophie. 

Each  day  he  stolidly  performed  his  allotted 
work.  But  each  night,  in  the  solitude  of  his 
room,  when  Sophie  had  gone  to  her  room,  and 
was  (as  he  fancied)  asleep,  he  would  lock  the 
doors  and  draw  the  curtains,  and  hasten,  with 
trembling  hands,  to  revel  in  his  one  fatal  indul- 
gence, as  a  miser  revels  in  his  gold. 

Alas  !  for  John  Parmelee. 

The  constant  grief  and  dark  monotony  of  his 
life  had  broken  down,  at  last,  the  barriers  of 
his  will  and  self-respect.  From  the  anguish  of 
mournful  thoughts  and  sad  surmises,  he  had 


30  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

sought  refuge  in  the  false  repose  of  artificial 
dreams  and  visions. 

Perhaps  it  was  some  perverted  instinct  of 
loyalty  to  his  lost  wife  that  had  prompted  him 
to  call  down  upon  his  own  head  the  calamity 
that  had  ruined  her ;  and,  since  he  could  not 
trace  her  actual  footsteps,  to  follow  in  the 
broad  trail  of  her  degradation. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  truth  must  be  told — 
that  John  Parmelee  had  himself  fallen  under 
the  deadening  dominion  of  the  opium  habit. 
It  was  the  one  selfish  and  cowardly  act  of  a 
man  otherwise  good  and  pure. 

It  may  be  said,  in  his  defense,  that  he  had 
persuaded  himself  it  would  not  prevent — possi- 
bly he  may  have  fancied  that  it  would  facili- 
tate— the  discharge  of  his  duties  to  his  employ- 
ers; and  that  his  concealment  of  the  practice 
was  as  much  due  to  his  regard  for  Sophie  as  to 
his  own  sense  of  shame.  He  did  not  wish  her 
to  be  overshadowed  by  the  disgrace  of  his 
self-indulgence;  and  he  did  not  realize  that  he 
was,  meanwhile,  shutting  her  out  from  that  en- 
joyment of  his  love  and  confidence  which  was 
all  she  cared  for. 


JOHN  PARMELEKS  CURSE.  31 

But  it  was  in  keeping  with  the  child's  shy- 
ness and  reticence  not  to  allude  to  the  knowl- 
edge which  she  possessed,  since  he  did  not 
allude  to  it.  She  respected  his  desire  for  se- 
crecy without  understanding  it.  Doubtless  she 
did  not  comprehend  the  moral  bearings  of  the 
case,  and  believed  that  whatever  the  father 
whom  she  loved  did  must  be  right.  But  she 
saw  clearly  enough  that  the  habit  rendered  his 
behavior  at  times  strange  and  uncertain  ;  that 
it  robbed  his  character  of  its  depth  and  trans- 
parency ;  and  that  in  various  indescribable 
ways  it  made  him  childlike  and  helpless,  and 
unfit  to  take  care  of  himself. 

Therefore,  effectively  yet  unobtrusively,  she 
lavished  upon  him  the  most  watchful  and  ten- 
der care.  Often,  without  his  suspecting  it, 
she  aided  him  to  conceal  his  vice  from  others, 
and  even  upon  occasion  affected  to  be  blind 
herself  to  what  she  saw  too  well.  So  far  from 
resenting  his  lack  of  confidence  in  her,  she  led 
him  to  think  that  she  was  unconscious  of  it. 

On  the  evening  on  which  this  story  opens, 
Sophie,  as  has  been  intimated,  prepared  the 
supper,  and  sat  down  in  her  chair  by  the  fire  to 


32  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

await  her  father's  arrival.  It  was  his  custom, 
after  his  duties  at  the  bank  were  over,  to  attend 
to  whatever  business  he  might  have  in  the  town, 
and  then  go  to  the  post-office ;  after  which  he 
always  came  home,  arriving  at  exactly  six 
o'clock.  But  on  this  occasion  he  was  already 
half  an  hour  late,  and  Sophie  began  to  be 
anxious. 

A  moment  later,  however,  she  saw  his  figure 
pass  the  window,  and  heard  his  step  upon  the 
threshold.  As  he  entered  the  room  she  rose 
from  her  chair  and  looked  earnestly  at  him. 
She  perceived  at  once  that  he  was  pre-occupied 
and  agitated. 

He  did  not  notice  her,  or  seem  to  see  her. 
He  took  off  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  threw 
them  on  the  sofa  ;  then  dropped  into  a  chair, 
pulled  an  open  letter  from  his  pocket  and  began 
to  study  it  with  a  troubled  countenance,  ever 
and  anon  passing  his  fingers  nervously  over  his 
mouth  and  chin. 

Sophie  had  opened  the  kitchen  door,  and  was 
bringing  out  the  supper  and  putting  it  on  the 
table.  Meanwhile  her  father's  self  commun- 
ings formed  themselves  into  audible  words. 


JOIiy  PARMRLEF/S  CURSE.  I'l^ 

"  That  handwriting  !  "  he  muttered,  staring 
at  the  letter  ;  ''  it's  disguised,  of  course  ;  but  it 
may  be  hers — it  must  be  !  She  doesn't  want 
me  to  know  she's  alive.  Ah,  Sallie,  Sallie  !  as 
if  I  shouldn't  have  felt  it,  if  you  were  dead  ! 

'' '  They  will  attempt  it  to-night,'  she  writes. 
Who?  Harold,  of  course.  Don't  I  know  what 
he  wanted  to  do  whe«  he  was  living  here? 
But  how  should  she  .  .  .  ?  She  must  be  with 
him  !  She  has  discovered  his  schemes,  and 
writes  to  warn  me.  Heaven  bless  her !  She 
thinks  of  me — she  loves  me  still !  She  has  not 
forgotten  me ! 

"  But  to  be  with  him — to  be  in  his  power,  per- 
haps !     What  a  fate  !     I  must  save  her !  " 

He  half  rose  from  his  chair,  then  sank  back 
in  it  again. 

"  But  the  bank!  "  he  said.  "Ay,  the  bank  ! 
I  must  save  that  first !  " 

**  Papa,"  said  Sophie,  quietly,  from  the  table, 
"  supper  is  ready." 

He  looked  up  with  a  start.  **  Supper?  Why, 
so  it  is  !  Sophie,  dear,  I  didn't  see  you.  Come 
and  give  papa  a  kiss."  She  came  to  him, 
and  as  he  embraced  her  she   threw    her   arms 


34  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

round  his    neck  and    whispered    in    his   ear; 
"  Papa,  darling  papa,  I  love  you  !  " 

A  smile  shone  in  his  face,  but  passed  away 
after  a  moment;  he  seated  himself  at  the  table 
and  began  to  eat  with  the  same  pre-occupied  air 
as  before. 

Presently  he  stopped,  and  began  thinking 
aloud  again.  ♦ 

*'  It  won't  do  to  tell  the  directors  !  If  they 
caught  him  they  would  get  hold  of  Sallie,  too; 
and  my  innocent  darling  would  be  dragged  into 
a  police  court !  No — no  !  I  must  manage  this 
affair  alone.  Let  me  think !  Why  not  lie  in 
wait  for  him,  and  when  he  comes — well,  if  it 
comes  to  a  fight,  I'm  a  better  man  than  he  is, 
still!  Then  tell  him  I'll  spare  him,  if  he'll 
show  me  where  Sallie  is  !  He'll  do  it — of  course 
he  will !  any  thing  to  escape  !  Ay,  but  he  may 
bring  others  with  him,  and  they  may  be  armed. 
Let  me  think !" 

He  sank  into  a  brown  study  once  more. 

"  Papa,"  said  Sophie,  '*  may  I  sit  up  in  this 
room  and  read  to-night  ?     I'm  not  sleepy." 

''Sit  up  and  read!"  he  exclaimed,  rousing 
himself  and  staring  at  her.     "  What  an    idea  ! 


JOHI^  PARMELEE'S  CUkSE.  35 

You  get  too  little  sleep  as  it  is.  No,  no!  You 
must  go  to  bed  right  after  supper,  dear ;  to- 
night especially." 

There  was  another  silence. 

•'  I  have  it !  "  he  said,  suddenly  leaning  back 
in  his  chair.  ''  I  have  it !  Of  course  !  Why 
didn't  I  think  of  it  before.  The  money  will  be 
secure  ;  and,  once  I'm  sure  of  that,  let  me  alone 
to  deal  with  a  dozen  Harolds!  " 

He  got  up  from  the  table,  took  a  large  key 
from  his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  iron  door 
already  mentioned,  which  gave  access  through 
the  partition  to  the  bank  office,  where  the  safe 
was  kept.  He  opened  this  door  and  passed 
through  it  into  the  bank. 

What  he  was  about  to  do  was  doubtless  not 
the  wisest  or  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  But 
one  of  the  most  unfailing  effects  of  opium  is  to 
unsettle  the  judgment  and  to  warp  the  moral 
sense. 


IV. 


AFTER  the  lapse  of  ten  minutes  John  Par- 
melee  returned  through  the  doorway, 
locking  the  iron  door  behind  him.  He  carried 
under  his  arm  a  brown  paper  parcel,  about 
a  foot  in  length,  and  eight  inches  in  width 
and  thickness. 

Putting  back  the  dishes  from  one  side  of  the 
supper  table  he  placed  the  bundle  upon  it,  and 
resumed  his  chair.  But  his  pre-occupied  man- 
ner had  now  left  him. 

"  Sophie,"  he  said,  "  lock  the  front  and  kitchen 
doors,  pull  down  all  the  window  shades,  and,  if 
any  one  should  knock,  give  no  answer.  Papa 
must  not  be  disturbed." 

Sophie  did  as  she  was  bid.  When  the  last 
shade  had  been  drawn,  her  father  untied  the 
bundle.  There  was  disclosed  a  quantity  of 
papers,  finely  engraved  with  letters  and  figures 
in  black,  green  and  gold  ;  and  several  packages 
of  bank    notes   of    hicrh    denominations.      All 


JOB?^  PARMELEES  CURSE.  37 

these  he  examined  carefully,  one  by  one,  refer- 
ring every  moment  to  a  written  list  on  the 
table  beside  him.  This  examination  lasted 
a  considerable  time,  and  seemed  to  be  satis- 
factory. 

He  then  remade  the  parcel,  tying  it  up  care- 
fully. 

Sophie,  meanwhile,  had  cleared  the  table, 
and  had  then  established  herself  in  her  low 
chair  by  the  fireside,  with  a  book  in  her  lap. 

Parmelee  remained  for  a  while  in  meditation, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  bundle.  At  length 
he  drew  a  long  breath,  sat  erect,  and  spoke  to 
his  daughter: 

*'  Come  here,  darling,"  he  said  ;  ''papa  wants 
to  talk  to  you." 

She  came  at  once,  and  stood  beside  him.  He 
put  his  arm  round  her,  seated  her  on  his  knee, 
and  kissed  her  cheeks. 

"  Sophie,"  he  began,  ''  I'm  going  to  let  you 
into  a  secret.  It's  important  that  some  one 
besides  myself  should  know  it ;  and  I  can  con- 
fide in  no  better  person  than  my  little  girl. 
You  may  not  be  very  clever;  but  I  know  you 
are  faithful  and  brave,  and  that  papa  can  trust 


3^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CVRSE. 

you.     But  you  must  not   let  any  body   know, 
unless  I  give  you  leave.     Do  you  promise?  " 

Sophie  lifted  her  great  black  eyes  to  his  for 
a  moment,  while  her  cheeks  flushed. 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  That's  right  !  "  he  returned.  "  Now  listen. 
The  package  you  see  there  contains  a  great 
deal  of  money  in  notes  and  bonds  and  securi- 
ties— more  than  fifty-seven  thousand  dollars' 
worth." 

"  Is  it  our  money?  "  the  child  inquired. 

*'  No,  it  is  not.  It  is  twice  as  much  as  papa 
has  earned  in  all  his  lifetime.  It  belongs  to  the 
bank's  depositors  ;  and  the  bank  will  hold  me 
responsible  if  any  thing  should  happen  to  it. 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again. 

•*  Now,  Sophie,"  he  went  on.  "  Papa  has 
received  a  letter  this  evening,  without  any 
name  signed  to  it,  but  which  I  believe  was  writ- 
ten by  a  person  whom  I  love  very  much.  The 
letter  says  that  some  wicked  people  are  going 
to  try  to  get  this  money  out  of  the  safe  in  the 
bank  to-night,  and  carry  it  away;  and  tells  me 
to  be  on  my  guard." 


JOII^'  PAl^MELEE'S  CUkSE.  39 

'*  Do  you  mean  robbers,  papa  ?  '  demanded 
the  child,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,  robbers  !  Well,  ordinarily  I  should 
report  the  matter  to  the  directors,  and  they,  if 
they  saw  fit,  would  put  policemen  on  guard,  to 
catch  the  robbers  if  they  came.  But,  in  this 
case,  I  have  reason  to  think  that  to  do  so  would 
get  an  innocent  person — the  person  who  wrote 
the  letter — into  trouble.  So  I  am  going  to  try 
to  manage  it  myself,  without  telling  the  direc- 
tors at  all." 

Sophie  looked  up  and  nodded  her  head,  with 
a  look  of  solemn  intelligence  on  her  little  face. 

"  I  have  taken  the  money  out  of  the  safe, 
as  you  see,"  he  resumed,  ''so  that,  even  if  the 
robbers  open  the  safe  in  spite  of  me,  they 
will  find  nothing  ;  and  I  am  going  to  hide  it 
away  in  a  secret  place  which  no  one  will  know 
of  but  you  and  I." 

"  Will  the  robbers  kill  you,  papa  ?  "  asked  the 
child,  with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  I  guess  not ! "  he  replied,  with  a  laugh. 
"  They  will  probably  be  so  much  frightened, 
when  they  see  me,  that  they  will  be  only  too 
glad  to  be  allowed  to  get  away.     Still,  some- 


4^  JO//.V  PAkMniEE'B  CUkSE, 

thing  might  happen  ;  and  in  case  it  should — if 
I  were  to  he  prevented  in  any  way  from  telling 
the  directors  myself  where  the  money  is  hid- 
den, then  my  little  Sophie's  part  in  the  affair 
will  come  in.  You  must  take  the  president,  or 
Mr.  Tyrrel,  to  the  secret  place,  and  tell  them 
what  I  have  told  you.  Do  you  think  you  could 
manage  that  for  me  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  mean  that  they  will  kill  you  !  " 
said  the  child  falteringly. 

"  Pooh  !  what  an  idea  !  No,  no  ;  but  if  I  shall 
be  called  away  for  any  reason,  I  shall  depend 
upon  you  to  guard  that  package — never  to  let 
it  go  out  of  your  reach — till  I  come  back,  or 
till  the  directors  ask  you  for  it.  That  would  be 
helping  papa  very  much.  Will  you  try,  my 
darling  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  not  help  you,"  said 
Sophie,  and  a  tear  ran  down  her  cheek  and 
dropped  on  her  hand. 

**  You  are  a  good  little  girl,"  said  her  father, 
smiling  at  her,  and  stroking  her  thick  dark 
hair. 

Sophie  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  She 
had  never  felt  so  unhappy  and  so  happy,  both 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CUJiSE.  4I 

at  once.  Her  father  had  seldom  spoken  to  her 
so  intelligibly  and  so  tenderly  as  now ;  he 
seemed  more  like  himself  than  he  had  done  for 
a  long  time.  But  the  thought  of  his  danger 
filled  her  throat  with  tears  till  it  ached,  and 
made  her  heart  swell. 

"And  now  you  shall  see  the  hiding  place!" 
said  he,  getting  up  and  taking  the  bundle. 

He  went  to  a  spot  on  the  left  of  the  fire- 
place and  near  the  door  of  his  bed-chamber. 
Here  he  knelt  down,  unhooked  a  corner  of  the 
carpet  from  its  fastening,  and  turned  it  back. 

A  part  of  two  adjoining  planks  of  the  floor 
was  thus  revealed.  A  section,  fifteen  inches  in 
length,  had  been  sawed  through  at  each  end. 
Parmelee  pried  it  up  with  the  blade  of  his  pen- 
knife, and  lifted  it  off  like  the  lid  of  a  box. 

Beneath  was  a  box-like  cavity,  empty,  save 
for  a  little  dust. 

"It  was  in  this  hiding-place  that  your  mamma 
and  I  used  to  keep  our  money  and  valuables — 
when  we  had  any  ! '  said  he  ;  and  then  he  gave 
a  sigh. 

He  dropped  the  parcel  into  the  cavity,  which 
contained  it,  with  some  room  to  spare.     After 


42  JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

replacing  the  section  of  plank  and  the  carpet, 
he  rose  to  his  feet  slowly,  and  went  and  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  his  head  bent 
downward. 

He  had  never  told  Sophie  any  thing  about 
her  mother;  and  the  child's  remembrance  of 
her  was  very  vague.  She  did  not  know  whether 
she  were  dead  or  alive,  or,  if  alive,  what  had 
been  the  cause  of  her  going  away.  She  had 
never  ventured  to  ask  for  information  on  these 
points,  because  she  supposed  that  her  father 
would  have  told  her,  if  he  had  wished  her  to 
know. 

But  this  evening  he  had  addressed  her  in  a 
manner  so  different  from  his  usual  one  that  she 
felt  emboldened  to  ask  him  the  questions  that 
had  waited  so  long.  She  had  reseated  herself 
in  her  little  chair,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  fire. 

"Is  mamma  in  heaven?"  she  inquired  at 
length. 

John  Parmelee  started. 

**  In  heaven?  No  ! "  he  said;  and,  after  a 
pause,  he  added,  "  But  if  there  is  a  hell  upon 
this  earth,  she  must  have  been  there !  " 


JOHN  PARMELEKS  CURSE.  43 

"  Is  there  a  hell  upon  this  earth,  papa?" 

Parmelee  had  always  been  a  religious  man, 
and  not  disposed  to  speculate  upon  the  dealings 
of  Providence  with  human  beings.  But  the 
merciless  sword  of  fate  had  smitten  deeply  into 
his  soul,  and  he  had  known  what  desolation  and 
misery  meant. 

"  Yes,  Sophie,  there  is  a  hell  upon  this  earth," 
he  replied;  "and  no  other  hell  can  be  more 
cruel  and  hopeless !  For  it  is  a  hell  only  for  the 
innocent,  and  not  for  the  guilty." 

"How  did  mamma  get  into  it?"  the  child 
asked. 

"  Your  mamma  was  a  lovely  and  beloved 
woman,"  he  answered,  speaking  slowly  at  first, 
but  gathering  emphasis  and  energy  as  he  went 
on.  "  God  made  her  beautiful,  and  gave  her  a 
sweet  and  gentle  nature.  She  harmed  no  one; 
and  one  might  have  thought  that  her  Creator 
would  have  protected  her  from  harm  and  deg- 
radation. But  He  permitted  a  curse  to  fasten 
itself  upon  her  which  ruined  her  in  body  and 
mind  !  She  was  without  sin,  yet  a  punishment 
fit  for  the  chief  of  sinners  fell  upon  her  !  It  was 
a  devil,  coming  to  her  in   the   likeness   of  an 


44  JOHN  FARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

angel  with  healing  on  its  wings!  It  seemed  to 
bless  her  with  a  soothing  sleep  while  it  was  cor- 
rupting her  with  a  lingering  poison !  And  I 
was  forced  to  stand  by  and  see  her  slowly  with- 
ered and  destroyed,  without  power  to  prevent 
or  soften  a  single  pang  !  Among  men,  even  the 
sternest  justice  has  mercy  enough  to  kill ;  but 
God,  the  all  merciful,  drove  out  this  innocent 
woman  into  the  world,  alone,  to  meet  the  scorn 
and  insults  of  the  basest  of  His  creatures.  But 
oh,  Sallie,  my  own  darling  wife;  I  love  you,  and 
I'll  follow  you  !  I  couldn't  save  you  from  the 
curse,  but  I  can  share  it !  My  sweetheart !  my 
poor  girl !  Whatever  depth  of  shame  and  misery 
you  may  reach,  you  will  find  me  there,  to  love 
and  reverence  you !  " 


V. 


SOPHIE  stood  gazing  at  her  father  with  pale 
cheeks  and  distended  eyes. 

His  outburst  had  become  almost  savage  in 
its  intensity,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
soon  become  oblivious  of  the  presence  of  his 
little  daughter.  He  paced  up  and  down  the 
room,  throwing  up  his  arms  and  sobbing,  at 
last,  in  the  extremity  of  his  desolation. 

She  had  never  heard  him  speak  such  words 

before.     Nor  must  it  be  supposed    that  they 

indicated    the  normal  color   of   his   thoughts. 

But  this  was  the  subject   upon  which  he  had 

brooded    longest   and    felt  most    poignantly ; 
and  the  excitement  and  suspense  of  hearing  (as 

he  fancied)  from  his  wife,  added  to  the  nervous 

derangement  consequent  upon  his  indulgence, 

had  hurried  him  into  unwonted  expressions  of 

rebellion  and  blasphemy. 

Finally,  in  his  forgings  about  the  room,  he 

came  directly    toward    Sophie ;    and  as    she 


46  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

moved  to  get  out  of  his  way,  he  perceived  her, 
and  stopped  short,  pressing  his  hands  against 
his  temples. 

Gradually  the  wild  expression  in  his  eyes  died 
away;  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  touched 
her,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  she  was  flesh 
and  blood,  and  not  a  vision  of  his  brain ;  and 
then  he  spoke  in  a  husky  but  gentle  tone  : 

*' Why  do  you  look  so  scared,  dear?  Don't 
mind  what  papa  says  or  does.  I  sometimes 
forget — I  think  I  am  somewhere  else.  There, 
there ;  I'm  all  right  again  now.  But  it's  late  ; 
time  for  you  to  be  in  your  room  and  asleep. 
Good-night,  little  girl!" 

*'  Oh,  papa,  let  me  stay  with  you  !  let  me 
have  the  curse,  too !  "  cried  the  child,  with  pas- 
sionate earnestness,  throwing  her  little  arms 
around  him.  *'  If  you  leave  me,  I  am  all  alone  ; 
there  is  nobody  else  to  care  for  me !  " 

^' Leave  you,  darling?  Leave  my  little 
daughter?  "  he  said,  bending  over  and  pressing 
her  to  him.  ''  No,  no,  no  !  we  shall  always  be 
together,  Sophie — you  and  I  !  And  what  do 
you  know  of  curses  ?  You  shall  never  know, 
please  God  !     You  shall  be  my  little  guardian 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  47 

angel,  and  then  the  curse  will  be  afraid  to  come, 
even  to  me  !  Will  you  save  me,  Sophie  ?  And 
mamma,  too?" 

Sophie  could  not  answer  in  words ;  she  clung 
to  him  and  sobbed. 

"Listen  then,  dear,"  he  said,  after  a  moment, 
kneeling  on  one  knee,  so  as  to  bring  his  face 
on  a  level  with  hers  ;  "  it  shall  be  so  ;  you  shall 
save  papa ;  and  afterward  we  will  save  mamma 
together.  Papa  will  be  a  better  man  for  your 
sake,  and  I  will  begin — "  he  hesitated — **  I  will 
begin  to-morrow." 

"You  don't  need  to  be  better!  You  are 
good  already  !  "  sobbed  Sophie,  indignantly. 

"  I  will  begin  to-morrow ! "  he  repeated. 
And  now  go  to  bed,  darling.  I  have  something 
to  do,  and  I  must  be  alone." 

He  followed  her,  with  a  smile,  to  the  door  of 
her  chamber,  and  closed  it  after  her. 

When  he  turned  round,  the  expression  of  his 
face  had  changed.  He  now  wore  an  eager, 
secret,  and  hungry  look. 

The  hour  at  which  he  usually  took  his  opium 
had  been  long  passed,  and  a  fierce  craving  was 
upon  hirq.    The  promise  of  aniendment  whicl] 


4^  JOHN  PA  R MELEE '  S  C  URSE. 

he  had  made  to  Sophie,  though  it  may  have 
been  ambiguous  to  her  comprehension,  had  a 
definite  meaning  to  John  Parmelee  ;  it  was  a 
promise,  that,  after  to-night,  he  would  break  off 
the  habit. 

But  to-night  was  still  before  him,  and  partly 
because  it  was  to  be  the  last,  and  partly  in 
order  to  fortify  himself  for  the  adventure  which 
awaited  him  further  on,  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  allow  himself  an  extra  large  dose. 

Muttering  in  an  undertone,  he  walked  with  a 
hurried  step  to  a  cupboard,  unlocked  it  with  a 
key  that  he  carried  about  him,  and  took  down 
from  the  top  shelf  a  small  metal  box. 

He  then  seated  himself  at  the  table  and 
opened  the  box  with  tremulous  fingers.  It  con- 
tained some  lumps  of  a  peculiar  reddish  brown 
substance,  from  which  emanated  a  singular 
odor. 

While  he  was  preparing  a  portion  of  this 
substance  for  consumption,  John  Parmelee 
manifested  such  symptoms  of  ravenous  impa- 
tience as  might  be  shown  by  a  starving  man  in 
the  presence  of  savory  food.  When  all  was 
ready  he  thrust  the  portion  into  his  mouth,  and, 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  49 

hastening  to  the  sofa,  sank  down  upon  it  with 
a  long  sigh  of  gratified  appetite. 

The  opium  eater's  hour  of  bhss  was  come, — 
the  hour  which  prevails  in  the  balance  against 
the  disgrace  and  misery  of  a  lifetime. 

But  the  double  dose  which  he  had  taken  was 
destined  to  have  another  effect  than  he  had  an- 
ticipated. 

The  influence  of  the  drug  varies,  within 
certain  limits,  according  to  the  temperament 
and  general  condition  of  the  consumer.  But 
there  is  always  the  possibility  that,  at  some 
moment,  under  special  circumstances,  the  brain 
may  receive  a  shock  which  will  occasion  tem- 
porary or  permanent  derangement,  as  the  case 
may  be. 

Some  persons  never  undergo  this  experience  ; 
Parmalee  had  hitherto  escaped  it,  but  now  his 
time  had  come. 

At  first,  a  look  of  mere  repose  and  content- 
ment settled  upon  his  features ;  his  arms  rested 
easily  by  his  sides  ;  his  attitude  was  relaxed 
and  indolent.  So  he  lay,  without  movement 
and  with  half  closed  eyes,  for  an  hour  or  more. 

Then  by  degrees  his  breathing  became  un- 


5°  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

even  and  audible  ;  his  lips  worked  ;  various  ex- 
pressions, frowns  and  half  smiles,  flitted  across 
his  face.  He  began  to  utter  incoherent  words 
in  a  muffled  voice.  At  length  these  words 
joined  themselves  together  in  consecutive  sen- 
tences. 

'*  She  will  come  back!"  he  said.  "I'll  say: 
*  Come,  Sallie,  it  has  all  been  an  evil  dream  ;^ 
but  it's  over  now ! '  She  will  come ;  we  are  - 
young  yet ;  we  shall  be  happy — happier  than 
ever.  And  we'll  never  touch  opium  again — 
never!  I  promised  it  for  Sophie's  sake.  We 
three  will  live  together  for  years  and  years — 
happy,  blessed  years!  And  Sallie  and  I  will  sing 
our  songs  again.  How  sweet  her  voice  was,  and 
how  sweetly  it  mingled  with  mine!  I  must  be- 
gin practicing  again  ;  it  will  never  do  for  Sallie 
to  catch  me  out  of  tune  !  " 

He  began  to  hum  a  little  song,  beginning, — 

I  loved  my  love  last  year  ; 

We  met  in  the  midst  of  June, — 

But  before  he  had  finished  the  first  stanza  his 
voice  suddenly  died  away,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  started  to  his  feet. 

He   stood  motionless  and  as  rigid  as  iron. 


JOHN  PAkMELEE'S  CURSE.  5l 

His  eyes  were  fixed  staringly  upon  a  point  in 
the  room  between  the  two  windows. 

There  was  no  one  there,  but  he  saw  some 
one;  and  the  expression  of  his  face  showed  a 
strange  mingling  of  emotions,  in  which  amaze- 
ment and  joy  predominated.  After  a  minute 
he  advanced  a  step,  holding  out  his  arms,  then 
paused  and  gazed  intently. 

"  Sallie  !  "  he  whispered.  "  Sallie — is  that 
you  .'' 

No  answer  came  back  from  the  emptiness  of 
the  room.  He  changed  his  position  a  little,  as 
if  following  the  movement  of  some  object 
toward  the  left. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?"  he  said. 
**  Why  don't  you  come  to  me  ?  What  makes 
you  look  so  strange  ?  You  haven't  forgotten 
me,  love — your  Jack — your  own  husband  ? 
Sallie  ....  Ah  !  where  is  she  ? — not  gone  ? — 
not—" 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  wheeled 
about.  But,  immediately,  he  seemed  to  regain 
his  composure,  though  he  breathed  heavily. 

"There  you  are  again!  and  smiling,  too! 
She  was  only  playing  a  trick  on  me — some  of 


52  JOHM  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

your  fun,  wasn't  it,  Sallie  ?  But — you've  beeil 
away  so  long!  and  I — I've  missed  you  so! 
Such  a  weary  time  I've  spent,  love  !  You  must 
comfort  me  a  little  first  ;  then  play  as  many 
jokes  as  you  like  !  " 

He  was  moving  slowly  across  the  room, 
seemingly  following  the  apparition,  which 
retreated  before  him.  Ever  and  anon  he 
stretched  forth  his  hand,  as  if  to  grasp  it ;  but 
it  eluded  him.  Now  it  appeared  to  be  entering 
the  bed-chamber,  then  to  slip  by  him,  and  pass 
in  front  of  the  fireplace  ;  next,  it  was  at  Sophie's 
door;  again,  it  had  turned  and  flitted  back  to 
the  place  where  he  first  saw  it.  At  times,  he 
would  lose  track  of  it  altogether;  but,  before 
the  cry  of  dismay  could  pass  his  lips,  the  phan- 
tom would  reappear,  and  the  strange  pursuit 
begin  again. 

It  was  pathetic,  the  hysteric  earnestness  with 
which  he  kept  up  the  chase  ;  because,  to  any 
other  senses  than  John  Parmelee's,  the  room 
was  vacant  of  any  presence  save  his  own. 
Every  faculty  of  his  mind  and  body  was  strained 
upon  a  specter  of  his  own  disordered  brain  ; 
but,  in  the  ghastly  world  of   opium,  illusions 


JOH^  PAkMEL^E  'S  CUkSE.  1% 

have  more  than  the  force  of  substantial 
things. 

But  all  at  once  a  ne\\^  change  took  place. 
The  delirious  man  was  now  facing  the  street 
door,  to  the  threshold  of  which  the  phantom 
had  retreated.  His  voice  rose  almost  to  a 
scream. 

*'  You're  not  going,  Sallie  ?  not  going  to  leave 
me  again? — before  speaking  a  word,  or  so  much 
as  letting  me  touch  your  hand  !  You  can't 
mean  it  in  earnest !  I'll  die  if  you  desert  me 
— I've  been  near  enough  death  as  it  is  !  My 
God  !  She's  waving  me  farewell — and  going .  .  . 
I'll  not  bear  it !  Where  you  go,  I'll  follow, 
lead  me  where  you  will  !  " 

He  caught  up  his  hat  from  the  sofa,  on  which 
he  had  flung  it  when  entering,  and  rushed  to 
the  door,  just  as  the  apparition  seemed  to  pass 
out  of  it. 

The  door  was  locked  on  the  inside.  Without 
stopping  to  marvel  at  this,  he  unlocked  it  in 
desperate  haste,  and  was  off  at  full  speed  down 
the  silent  road. 

The  phantom  fled  before  him  ;  but,  save  for 
that,  he  was  alone. 


VI. 

SOPHIE,  all  this  while,  had  not  been  asleep, 
nor  even  abed. 

She  had  at  first  wept  silently;  and  then, 
when  no  more  tears  would  come,  she  had  sat 
huddled  up  on  the  bed,  with  her  little  fingers 
clasped  round  her  knees,  like  an  East  Indian 
mummy,  and  thought  about  her  father  and  her 
mother,  and  about  all  the  mystery  and  sadness 
that  had  already  entered  into  her  brief  life. 

The  words  her  father  had  repeated,  "I  will 
begin  to-morrow,"  kept  occurring  to  her 
memory  ;  she  had  not  known  exactly  what  he 
meant  by  them  ;  but  she  hoped  that  he  would 
begin  to  be  happier.  Had  she  understood  him 
to  mean  that  he  would  give  up  opium,  she 
might — young  as  she  was — have  been  a  little 
skeptical. 

Presently,  her  reveries  were  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  her  father's  voice,  murmuring  to 
himself.     There  was  nothing  unusual  in  this; 


JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  55 

she  had  heard  the  same  thing  ahnost  every 
night  for  years;  and  on  several  occasions,  when 
he  had  become  more  bewildered  than  usual,  she 
had  led  him  to  his  room  and  stayed  with  him 
until  he  fell  asleep  ;  a  fact  of  which,  however, 
he  had  retained  no  recollection  the  next 
morning. 

The  present  attack  sounded  to  Sophie  as  if  it 
was  going  to  be  exceptionally  severe.  Her 
father's  voice  rose  to  such  a  pitch  of  agitation 
that  she  became  uneasy,  and  began  to  debate 
with  herself  whether  or  not  she  should  go  out 
and  try  to  quiet  him.  She  had  decided  that 
she  would  do  so,  and  had  already  got  off  the 
bed  for  that  purpose,  when,  quite  abruptly,  the 
sound  ceased  altogether,  and  a  dead  stillness 
followed. 

*'  He  must  be  better ;  he  will  go  to  sleep 
now,"  thought  Sophie. 

But  the  stillness  had  come  so  suddenly,  and 
was  so  absolute,  that  she  still  felt  anxiety.  The 
paroxysms  had  generally  subsided  gradually  ; 
and  her  father  would  often  pace  the  floor  for  a 
long  time  before  going  to  bed.  But  to-night 
all  demonstrations  had  ceased  abruptly  as  the 


5^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

flow  of  water  when  the  tap  is  turned  off.  What 
could  be  the  reason  of  it  ? 

Sophie  waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
making  up  her  mind  to  look  into  the  outer 
room  and  see  what  was  the  matter.  If  her 
father  were  awake  and  well,  she  knew  he  would 
be  displeased  to  find  that  she  had  disobeyed  his 
order  to  go  to  bed.  But  at  length  her  anxiety 
got  the  better  of  her ;  she  opened  the  door 
softly,  put  forth  her  little  head  of  dark  shaggy 
hair,  and  looked  about. 

Her  father  was  certainly  not  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  gone  into  his  own  room," 
was  her  first  thought. 

She  slipped  out  to  investigate.  The  door  of 
her  father's  chamber  was  ajar  ;  but,  when  she 
peeped  in,  the  bed  was  empty.  He  was  not 
there. 

The  child's  heart  began  to  beat  painfully,  and 
she  stood  intertwining  her  fingers  nervously. 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  might  have 
returned  to  the  bank  by  way  of  the  iron  door. 
She  went  to  the  door,  and  tried  it.  It  was 
locked,  and  the  key  was  in  the  lock. 


JOHN-  PAR  MELEE '  S  CURSE.  5  7 

What  could  have  become  of  him? 

She  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  and  then 
she  noticed,  for  the  first  time,  that  her  father's 
hat  was  no  longer  on  the  sofa,  where  she  had 
last  seen  it. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  thought  of  the  rob- 
bers flashed  into  her  mind.  What  if  they  had 
come  in,  and  carried  him  away ! 

She  ran  to  the  street  door,  which  she  remem- 
bered having  locked  in  obedience  to  her  father's 
request.  It  was  unlocked  ;  but  it  must  have 
been  unlocked  from  the  inside,  for  there  was 
the  key.  Evidently,  therefore,  if  he  had  gone 
out  it  was  of  his  own  will. 

The  little  girl  felt  like  bursting  into  tears 
again.  But  she  controlled  this  impulse,  sum- 
moned all  her  strength  and  resolution,  and 
forced  herself  to  think. 

Two  things  were  plain :  That  her  father 
was  gone  ;  and  that  he  had  departed  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  his  worst  paroxysms.  There- 
fore, it  was  probable  that  he  had  not  known 
what  he  was  about,  and,  that  being  the  case, 
a  calamity  might  happen  to  him  at  any 
moment. 


5^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CVRSE. 

*'  I  must  go  after  him  and  bring  him  back !  " 
Sophie  said  aloud. 

It  was  a  hopeless  scheme ;  for  a  crazy  man  was 
just  as  likely  to  go  in  one  direction  as  another, 
and  he  already  had  half  an  hour's  start.  But 
Sophie,  with  the  mystic  confidence  of  child- 
hood, had  no  doubt  that  she  would  be  led 
directly  in  his  footsteps,  .or  that,  when  over- 
taken, he  would  return  with  her. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  at  all   events. 

In  five  minutes  she  had  put  on  her  pelisse 
and  hat,  put  in  her  pocket  a  few  dollars  from 
the  money  drawer  (in  case  she  should  have  to 
travel  by  train),  and  had  her  hand  on  the  latch 
of  the  street  door.  But  there  she  stopped, 
appalled ! 

There  was  something  that  she  had  forgotten. 
She  turned  slowly  back,  and  re-entered  the  sit- 
ting-room. The  glow  of  action  and  resolve 
faded  out  of  her  cheeks  and  eyes.  Her  heart 
felt  ready  to  break. 

For  there  was  all  that  immense  sum  of 
money  which  her  father  had  entrusted  to  her 
charge.  She  had  promised  him  that,  in  the 
event  of  his  absence,  she  would  take  care  of  it, 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  59 

and  not  let  it  go  out  of  her  reach.     He  was 
gone,  and  her  promise  bound  her  to  remain. 

The  choice  offered  to  her  was  one  which 
every  man  and  woman  has  to  answer  for  them- 
selves once  in  their  lives.  Should  she  yield  to 
the  impulse  of  love  and  anxiety  for  her  father, 
or  should  she  stand  loyal  to  the  trust  confided 
in  her?     Honor  or  love — which  should    rule? 

She  did  not  debate  the  question  long.  She 
was  not  skilled  in  sophistry.  She  threw  her- 
self down  on  the  floor,  over  the  place  where  the 
money  was  hidden,  and  lay  there  on  her  face. 

It  was  a  cruel  situation  for  a  child  to  be  in. 
On  the  one  hand  she  knew  that  her  father,  the 
only  being  she  loved  in  the  world,  was  help- 
less and  probably  in  danger  ;  and  she  knew,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  the  bankrrobbers  might 
appear  at  any  moment  ;  and  Sophie  was  no 
more  fond  of  robbers  than  are  other  young 
people  of  her  age.  But  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  not  to  abandon  the  money  that  belonged 
to  others,  and  for  which  her  father  would  be 
held  responsible  by  the  directors. 

So  there  she  lay  on  the  floor,  feeling  as  if 
she  should  die. 


6o  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

But  at  length,  after  a  lapse  of  time  that 
probably  seemed  to  her  longer  than  it  really 
was,  a  new  idea  entered  her  mind — an  idea 
that  caused  her  to  spring  up  from  the  floor 
with  a  cry  of  joy. 

The  idea  was  to  this  effect  :  Why  should 
she  not  go  after  her  father,  taking  the  money 
along  with  her? 

She  could  easily  carry  it  in  the  big  black 
satchel ;  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about 
that,  and  the  plan  was  feasible  on  other  grounds. 
For,  if  she  remained  where  she  was,  and  the 
robbers  came,  they  would  first  attack  the  safe  ; 
but  then,  finding  no  money  there,  they  would 
in  all  probability  enter  the  house,  and  perhaps 
discover  the  money  in  its  hiding-place  ;  and  she 
would  not  be  able  to  prevent  their  taking  it. 

But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  she  were  to  go 
away  with  the  packet  in  her  satchel,  though 
the  house  were  filled  with  robbers,  they  could 
get  nothing  ;  and  meanwhile  she  would  find 
her  father  and  bring  him  back. 

This  was  the  way  Sophie  argued  ;  and  for  a 
child  who  was  considered  stupid,  the  argument 
was  by  no  means  an  unintelligent  one. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  6 1 

She  was  not  long  in  putting  her  scheme  into 
execution. 

She  got  out  the  big  black  satchel  from  its 
place  in  the  closet.  She  placed  it  on  the  floor 
beside  the  hiding  place  ;  then  uncovered  the 
latter  and  extracted  the  parcel  of  notes  and 
securities.  It  went  into  the  satchel  easily  and 
left  some  room  on  top. 

This  place  she  filled  up  with  her  little  night 
dress,  and  her  comb  and  brush.  Altogether,  it 
made  a  heavy  load  for  her  small  hands  to  carry. 
But  Sophie  felt  energy  enough  in  her  to  carry 
a  mountain,  had  that  been  necessary. 

All  was  now  ready.  She  took  a  last  look 
round  the  room ;  then  put  out  the  lamp,  and 
sallied  forth,  locking  the  street  door  behind 
her,  and  hanging  the  key  on  its  nail  beneath 
the  window  sill.  No  one  was  stirring  in  the 
street ;  the  inhabitants  of  Tisdale  were  accus- 
tomed to  go  to  bed  early. 

Sophie,  after  a  short  deliberation,  turned  her 
face  toward  New  York ;  and,  in  another 
moment,  she  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


VII. 

HAROLD  BLACKMER  was  one  of  those 
men  not  uncommon  in  this  country,  who 
steps  at  once  from  childhood  into  manhood  ;  he 
omitted  the  season  of  youth    altogether.     This 

might  be  regarded  as  a  gain  in  time  ;  but  in 
other  respects  it  was  a  loss,  though  Blackmer 

himself  doubtless  did  not  view  it  in  that  light. 
He  thought  that  to  live  one  must  be  a  man 
of  the  world  ;  that  sentiment  and  illusion  were 
a  waste  of  tissue  and  opportunity. 

This  conception  on  his  part  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  naturally  of  an  extremely  sen- 
sitive disposition.  His  acute  and  impression- 
able intellect  was  quick  to  investigate  and  com- 
prehend other  people's  opinion  of  him  ;  and 
his  vanity  or  love  of  approbation  led  him  to 
adopt  such  a  line  of  speech  and  conduct  as 
should  be  most  likely  to  free  him  from  the 
charges  of  ignorance  and  absurdity.  He  could 
not  bear  to  be  laughed  at,  even  good-naturedly  ; 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  ^Z 

and  as  he  perceived  that  inexperience  in  the 
ways  of  the  world  generally  caused  amusement 
in  those  who  were  better  informed,  he  made 
it  a  point,  first,  to  learn  and  practice  the  ways 
of  the  world  as  promptly  as  possible ;  and, 
secondly,  to  disguise  whatever  inexperience 
he  might  be  conscious  of. 

A  child  naturally  believes  in  the  good-will 
and  honesty  of  those  with  whom  he  is  brought 
in  contact.  Harold,  at  the  outset,  was  occa- 
sionally deceived  like  other  children  ;  but,  un- 
like them,  he  rapidly  divested  himself  of  his 
instinctive  belief  in  human  nature,  and  trained 
himself  to  believe  in  nothing  at  all.  This  early 
skepticism  had  the  effect  upon  his  associates 
which  he  desired.  He  was  called  a  ''wide- 
awake boy,"  which  gratified  him  ;  and  he  was 
accepted  as  a  companion  by  persons  much 
older  than  himself.  His  close  observation  and 
retentive  memory  enabled  him  to  catch  the 
tone  of  their  thought  and  conversation,  and  to 
reproduce  it  successfully.  He  was  resolute 
not  to  be  shocked  or  abashed  by  whatever 
word  or  act  of  his  friends,  but  on  the  contrary, 
to  exhibit  a  cynicism  and  moral  indifference  of 


64  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

an  even  more  unhesitating  kind  than  theirs.  As 
his  cleverness  was  above  the  average,  and  he 
had  wit  and  tact,  he  found  little  difficulty  in 
establishing  the  reputation  he  coveted. 

At  the  same  time,  the  instincts  of  his  birth 
and  breeding  prevented  him  from  lapsing  into 
mere  vulgar  degradation.  His  manner  was 
always  polite  and  easy  ;  his  speech  accurate 
and  polished,  and  his  physical  habits  nice.  He 
kept  himself  immaculately  clean,  dressed  ele- 
gantly, seldom  swore,  and  never  drank.  He 
had  good  health  and  a  handsome  face  and 
figure,  and  he  took  pains  to  preserve  them  in 
unimpaired  condition.  In  every  outward  mani- 
festation he  was  a  gentleman.  Women  liked 
him,  and  were  fond  of  receiving  his  attentions; 
his  name  for  being  somewhat  reckless  and  un- 
scrupulous did  him  no  harm  with  them.  His 
father,  who  had  himself  seen  more  of  ''  life  " 
than  he  would  have  cared  to  have  known  in 
his  mature  age,  admired  the  young  man  and 
encouraged  him.  His  sister  worshiped  him 
with  all  a  sister's  reverential  ardor.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  he  came  to  feel  that  nothing 
was  too  good  for  him. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  65 

Such  a  feeling  in  such  a  character,  requires 
money  to  make  it  secure.  The  judge  lived 
like  a  wealthy  man,  but  did  not  have  much 
money  to  spare.  Harold,  therefore,  was  soon 
put  to  his  trumps  to  maintain  his  elegant  ap- 
pearance. Accordingly,  he  early  cultivated  a 
natural  gift  he  had  for  living  at  other  people's 
expense,  while  giving  them  the  impression  that 
he  was  conferring  a  favor  upon  them.  He 
was  a  familiar  and  favorite  guest  at  the  dinner- 
tables  of  all  the  available  rich  men  in  the 
neighborhood ;  he  drove  in  their  carriages  and 
made  use  of  their  luxuries.  He  was  the  friend 
and  ally  of  all  who  could  be  of  use  to  him  ;  all 
others  he  shunned  and  snubbed.  He  was 
shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that  borrowing 
money  was  a  clumsy  and  uncertain  way  of 
solving  his  main  difficulty,  and  he  practiced 
it  but  sparingly.  On  the  other  hand,  he  studied 
the  art  of  betting  with  energy  and  with  good 
results ;  and  he  developed  something  like  a 
genius  for  cards  and  billiards.  He  had  three 
tailors  in  his  employ,  and  his  dealings  with 
them  illustrated  his  business  ability.  He  would 
order  two  or  three  suits  of  clothes  at  a  time 


66  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

from  each  of  them ;  would  sell  all  but  two,  at 
seventy  or  eighty  per  cent  discount,  to  a  sec- 
ond-hand dealer ;  and,  when  the  bills  were 
sent  in,  he  would  apply  the  second-hand  deal- 
er's money  to  payments  on  account.  If  the 
tailors  pressed  for  more,  he  would  lull  them  to 
security  by  ordering  more  clothes,  which  he 
would  subject  to  the  same  ingenious  process. 
By  such  devices,  year  after  year,  he  contrived 
to  keep  ahead  of  disaster  ;  and  no  one  sus- 
pected how  close  to  the  wind  he  was  some- 
times obliged  to  sail. 

When  Parmelee  became  engaged  to  Sallie, 
Harold,  as  has  been  said,  at  first  put  himself 
in  opposition  to  the  match.  Parmelee  did  not 
belong  to  his  set ;  he  had  no  aspirations  after 
a  fast  and  dashing  life.  But  after  a  time,  Har- 
old began  to  regard  the  matter  from  another 
point  of  view.  Though  Parmelee  was  not  rich 
or  aristocratic,  he  might  one  day  attain  at 
least  the  former  virtue  ;  for  he  was  diligent, 
intelligent,  and  trusted  by  his  employers ;  and 
best  of  all,  he  was  employed  in  the  bank.  He 
was  cashier  already  ;  there  was  no  telling  but 
what  he  might  become  director  or  president ;  he 


Jo  HPT  parmeLee's  curse.  67 

had  the  brains  and  the  experience.  To  be  the 
friend,  still  more  the  brother-in-law  of  such  a 
man  could  do  no  harm  ;  it  might  result  in 
great  benefit. 

Accordingly,  Harold  changed  his  attitude 
completely,  and  became  John's  champion  and 
cordial  friend.  He  studied  his  character,  and 
made  note  of  its  weak  points.  His  habit  of 
skepticism  may  have  blinded  him  to  some  of 
its  strong  points  ;  but  no  one  can  be  omniscient. 
At  all  events,  John  was  good-natured  and 
trustful,  and  was  especially  inclined  in  Harold's 
favor,  because  of  the  latter's  advocacy  of  his 
matrimonial  hopes.  Nor  could  he  but  be  in- 
fluenced by  Sallie's  enthusiasm  for  her  brother, 
which  she  omitted  no  opportunity  to  express. 
Harold  became  a  frequent  caller  at  John's 
house,  and  the  medium  of  communication  be- 
tween him  and  Sallie,  when  the  judge  devel- 
oped his  opposition  to  their  union.  A  friend 
who  brings  a  lover  a  letter  from  his  mistress, 
seems  to  deserve  the  utmost  confidence  and 
gratitude  of  both  parties.  Harold  professed 
to  be  acting  quite  disinterestedly  ;  but  he  was 
only  biding  his  time.     He   had  already  begun 


68  JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

to  revolve  a  scheme,  which,  though  it  was  not 
carried  into  execution  until  many  years  after- 
ward, was  always  in  his  thoughts  as  a  possible 
solution  of  all  his  pecuniary  ambition. 

This  plan  was  nothing  less  than  to  rob  the 
Tisdale  Bank ;  availing  himself  for  that  pur- 
pose of  his  influence  over  Sallie,  and  of  the 
knowledge  which  he  expected  to  acquire 
through  her  and  possibly  through  John,  of  the 
inner  workings  and  arrangements  of  that  in- 
stitution. The  bank  ordinarily  kept  a  large 
balance  on  hand ;  and  occasionally  the  sum 
accumulated  so  rapidly  as  to  reach  the  neigh- 
borhood of  half  a  million  of  dollars.  The  safe  in 
which  the  funds  were  kept,  although  a  massive 
and  formidable-looking  affair,  was  constructed 
upon  principles  already  out  of  date,  and  the  lock 
could  be  picked  by  a  cracksman  of  average 
skill.  No  attempt  to  try  its  strength  had  ever 
been  made  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhab- 
itant of  Tisdale,  and  probably  no  one  of  its 
guardians  or  directors  was  so  deficient  in  faith 
in  his  fellow-men  as  to  anticipate  any  such 
outrage.  The  enterprise,  therefore,  was  in 
all  respects  as  free  from  technical  difificultiesas 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  69 

could  be  expected.     Nevertheless,  it  was  not 
carried  out  as  Harold  designed. 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  never  hitherto 
actually  broken  the  law,  though  there  was 
nothing  in  the  way  of  moral  scruple  to  hinder 
his  doing  so.  But  his  associations  had  been 
chiefly  with  gentlemen,  and  he  feared  to  com- 
promise himself  by  allying  himself  with  the 
criminal  classes.  This  apprehension  involved 
his  carrying  out  his  scheme  without  assistance; 
and  that  was  not  easy.  It  was  simple  enough 
in  imagination  and  theory;  but  when  it  came 
to  putting  the  theory  into  practice,  Harold 
lacked  the  confidence  which  comes  only  with 
training  and  custom.  After  his  father's  death 
and  his  sister's  marriage,  he  was  able  to  increase 
his  intimacy  with  Parmelee  ;  but  he  did  not 
gain  that  free  access  to  the  safe,  or  that  com- 
prehensive knowledge  of  the  inside  workings 
of  the  bank  on  which  he  had  calculated.  It 
was  not  that  John  entertained  any  suspicions; 
but,  whether  by  accident  or  by  the  instinct  of 
a  man  in  his  responsible  position,  he  always 
maintained  reserve  on  the  one  point  as  to 
which    Harold    desired     enlightenment.     Nor 


7^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

was  Sallie  able  to  afford  him  much  help.  She 
was  loquacious  on  all  matters  within  her 
knowledge  ;  but  the  affairs  of  the  bank  were 
not  within  her  knowledge,  nor  v/ere  they  of 
interest  to  her.  Harold,  of  course,  could  not 
ask  her  to  make  investigations  for  him  ;  it  would 
have  thrown  suspicion  on  him  after  the  robbery, 
and  it  was  part  of  his  scheme  that  the  crime 
should  appear  to  have  been  committed  by  or- 
dinary burglars.  Moreover,  the  ten  thousand 
dollars  of  Harold's  portion  kept  him  in  funds 
for  the  time  being,  and  caused  him  to  procras- 
tinate. Aftersvard,  when  he  had  speculated 
with  the  money,  and  lost  it,  he  made  the  mis- 
take of  borrowing  sums  from  Parmelee,  who 
accomodated  him  willingly  so  far  as  his  means 
admitted,  and  indeed  somewhat  further  ;  but 
who  expected  that  the  loans  would  be  returned 
in  due  time.  When  Harold  failed  to  pay  up, 
the  situation  became  somewhat  strained  ;  and 
the  end  of  it  was,  as  we  have  seen,  that  he 
ceased  to  be  a  member  of  Parmelee's  house- 
hold. Thus  his  plans  fell  through  for  the 
time,  though  he  did  not  relinquish  them.  He 
went  to   New  York,  where,  in  the  pursuit  of 


JOH.^  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  Jt 

fortune,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  class  of 
persons  very  different  from  those  he  had 
known  in  Tisdale,  and  much  better  suited  in 
principles,  if  not  in  social  position,  to  the  kind 
of  man  that  Harold  Blackmer  was. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  follow  the  whole 
course  of  his  adventures  during  the  ensuing 
ten  or  twelve  years.  At  first,  he  took  a  high 
place  among  the  crooked  fraternity,  and  there 
was  something  dashing  and  commanding  in  his 
operations.  His  brain  was  clear  and  his  nerves 
sound,  and  he  succeeded  for  a  long  while  in 
keeping  beyond  the  reach  of  the  laws.  Some- 
times he  sought  his  ends  through  the  machina- 
tions of  politics;  sometimes  he  entered  into 
commercial  or  financial  transactions ;  some- 
times he  appeared  as  the  managing  agent  of 
speculative  schemes  which  promised  the  largest 
returns  for  the  smallest  outlay.  His  manners 
were  plausible,  conciliating  and  attractive ;  he 
had  the  faculty  of  inspiring  confidence  and 
arguing  people  out  of  their  better  judgment. 
He  visited  every  principal  city  in  the  Union, 
and  spent  a  couple  of  years  in  Europe.  Occa- 
sionally he  came  into  possession  of  large  sums 


12  JOHN  pAkMELEE'S  CVRSE. 

of  money,  which,  with  such  abiHty  as  his, 
might  have  become  the  nucleus  of  a  colossal  for- 
tune. But,  like  all  his  kind,  he  had  upon  him 
the  curse  of  restlessness  and  insubordination  ; 
riches  honestly  come  by  were  riches  without 
enjoyment.  To  put  money  out  at  legal  inter- 
est was  intolerable  ;  he  must  be  wealthy  by 
dint  of  audacious  strokes  of  cunning  and 
unscrupulousness ;  every  thing  he  got  must 
be  regarded  as  income,  never  as  capital.  The 
money  which  he  obtained  must  not  be  the 
return  for  any  thing  contributed  by  him  to 
the  wealth  of  the  world  ;  it  must  be  made  at 
the  expense  of  other  men. 

Luck  attended  him  so  long,  that  at  last  he 
came  to  count  upon  it  as  a  permanent  element 
in  his  career  ;  and  then  luck  began  to  play  fast 
and  loose  with  him.  A  brilliant  success  would 
be  followed  by  a  mortifying  or  disastrous  fail- 
ure. At  length  he  became  entangled  in  a  bogus 
money  transaction,  and  was  arrested.  After  a 
trial  which  was  prolonged  over  some  months, 
he  escaped  conviction  on  a  technicality  ;  but 
his  portrait  was  in  the  rogues'  gallery,  and  he 
was  thenceforward  a  recognized  member  of  the 


JOH\^  PAkMELEE'S  CURSE.  73 

criminal  classes.  He  became  more  circumspect, 
but  also  more  degraded  and  malignant.  He 
associated  with  thieves  and  scoundrels  of  all 
descriptions ;  and  though,  owing  to  his  supe- 
rior intelligence  and  education,  he  played  a 
leading  part  among  them ;  he  was  none  the 
less  on  their  level  in  all  but  executive  matters. 
Frequently  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  up  a 
respectable  outward  appearance  ;  and  more 
than  once  he  had  been  obliged  to  pawn  his 
clothes  to  get  something  to  eat. 

It  was  at  about  this  period  that,  while  pass- 
ing one  evening  through  an  obscure  street  in 
one  of  the  lower  districts  of  the  city,  his  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
voice  singing.  Something  in  the  quality  of  the 
voice  caused  him  to  approach  the  singer,  who 
was  a  female  past  middle  age  apparently,  and 
poorly  clad.  There  was  something  familiar  in 
her  tones,  and  even  in  the  words  of  the  song 
she  sang.  She  was  surrounded  by  a  little 
crowd  of  loiterers,  and  listening  heads  pro- 
truded here  and  there  from  the  windows. 
When  her  song  was  ended,  the  woman  held  out 
a  little  basket  which  she  carried  for  contribu- 


74  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

tions.  Two  or  three  of  her  audience  put  cop- 
pers into  it  ;  and  Harold,  who  had  been  stand- 
ing behind  her,  stepped  round  her  to  get  a 
view  of  her  face ;  and  recognized  his  sister, 
Sallie  Parmelee. 


VIII. 

THIS  unexpected  encounter  startled  and  im- 
pressed even  his  callous  and  corrupted 
heart.  He  took  her  to  a  neighboring  eating- 
house,  and  questioned  her.  Reluctantly,  and 
with  many  quite  unnecessary  stipulations  that  he 
would  reveal  nothing  to  her  husband,  she  told 
him  her  story.  It  was  dismal  and  pathetic 
enough.  For  many  months  after  her  departure 
from  Tisdale,  she  had  lived  in  a  large  tenement 
house  in  the  thickly  populated  and  shabby  dis- 
trict south  of  East  Fourteenth  street.  Seldom 
moving  out  of  her  room,  except  after  dark,  she 
entirely  evaded  all  the  efforts  made  to  discover 
her ;  though  once  she  had  seen  her  husband  turn 
the  corner  of  a  street,  where  the  light  of  a  gas- 
lamp  showed  his  features,  and  then  pass  close 
by  her,  as  she  shrank  back  in  the  shadow  of  a 
doorway.  She  had  felt  a  passionate  impulse  to 
cry  out  to  him  ;  but  she  had  restrained  it,  partly 


76  JOHN  FARM  ELBE'S  CURSE. 

from  fear  and  partly  from  shame,  and  he  had 
passed  on,  and  out  of  her  sight  forever. 

The  rent  of  the  room  which  she  had  occu- 
pied was  very  small;, her  food  cost  her  but  a 
trifle  ;  her  chief  expense  was  for  opium.  So 
long  as  the  money  she  had  brought  with  her 
held  out,  therefore,  her  life  went  on  quite  un- 
eventfully ;  one  day  was  the  repetition  of 
another,  and  all  were  tinged  alike  with  the 
vague  imagery  of  her  opium  dreams.  When 
her  money  w'as  exhausted,  she  sold  her  jewels, 
one  after  the  other,  dimly  hoping  that  death 
might  relieve  her  before  this  source  of  supplies 
also  ran  out.  Death,  as  usual,  was  not  so  ac- 
commodating; and  Sallie  lacked  either  the 
resolution  or  the  impiety  to  summon  death  on 
her  own  responsibility.  But  opium  she  must 
have  ;  and  to  obtain  that,  money  was  necessary. 
How  should  she  get  it  ?  There  are  ways  in  which 
a  handsome  woman  may  get  money  in  a  great 
city  ;  and  Sallie  was  handsome  still.  But  some- 
thing kept  her  from  this  irrevocable  plunge ; 
either  temperament  or  conscience,  or  the  very 
listlessness  of  her  half  bewildered  state.  Finally 
it  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  practice  as  ^ 


JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  C  URSE.  7  ^ 

means  of  livelihood  the  accomplishment  which, 
in  happier  days,  had  ministered  to  the  pleasure 
of  her  friend.  ;  and  she  began  to  sing  in  the 
streets.  Her  voice  had  suffered  by  the  life  she 
had  been  leading,  and  the  long  lack  of  custom 
had  impaired  her  facility ;  but  much  of  the 
charm  still  remained,  and  the  experiment  suc- 
ceeded beyond  her  hopes.  Music  never  seems 
to  fail  of  its  effect  over  all  classes  of  people. 
A  certain  famous  prima  donna  was  at  that  time 
receiving  a  thousand  dollars  a  night  for  a  few 
songs;  and  Sallie's  receipts,  on  the  first  day  of 
her  new  trade,  amounted  to  a  little  less  than  a 
thousandth  part  as  much.  But  it  was  sufficient 
for  her  necessities,  and  she  asked  no  more. 

Moreover,  her  inoffensive  and  gentle  nature 
raised  her  up  friends  even  among  the  dregs  of 
the  people,  and  stimulated  whatever  kindly 
instincts  were  left  in  them.  She  found  shelter 
with  the  homeless,  food  with  the  hungry,  and 
honesty  with  the  dishonest.  She  harmed  no 
one,  and  no  one  but  herself  harmed  her.  But 
she  was  without  hope  or  aim  in  life,  without 
fixed  habitation,  severed  from  all  ties  of  blood  ; 
and  gradually  and   inevitably  she  lapsed  into 


78  JOHN  PARMELEES  CURSE. 

more  and  more  squalid  conditions,  until,  on  the 
day  that  her  brother  met  her,  she  needed  but 
little  to  fall  altogether  out  of  human  sight  and 
knowledge.  It  was  only  the  craving  for 
opium  that  stimulated  her  to  keep  up  the 
struggle  for  life. 

Harold  was  himself  on  the  losing  side  of  the 
market ;  but,  with  his  instinctive  desire  to  pro- 
duce a  dashing  impression,  he  acted  the  man 
of  means  to  his  despairing  sister,  and  treated 
her  and  himself  to  a  better  supper  than  he 
would  have  afforded  himself  alone.  He  had 
an  obscure  retreat  in  a  shady  part  of  the 
city,  and,  after  some  hesitation,  he  took  her 
there,  and  made  her  as  comfortable  as  circum- 
stances would  admit.  For  acting  thus,  he 
credited  himself  with  admirable  generosity; 
but  the  truth  was  that  he  had  conceived  a  plan 
whereby  Sallie  might  help  him  to  a  comfort- 
able fortune.  He  did  not  at  once  declare  it  to 
her;  but  it  promised  well,  and  he  had  little 
doubt  of  its  successful  realization.  Mean- 
while, it  was  indispensable  that  Sallie  should 
be  brought  to  regard  him  with  the  utmost 
affection  and  gratitude. 


JOHN  PARMELEKS  CURSE.  79 

The  pkn  was  the  old  one  of  robbing  the 
Tisdale  Bank.  Harold  was  now  more  than 
ripe  for  the  exploit ;  and  the  sight  of  his 
sister  had  instantly  recalled  it  to  his  mind. 
He  persuaded  himself  that  the  conditions 
were  especially  favorable,  and  that  Sallie 
would  easily  be  prevailed  upon  to  help  him 
in  a  way  which  he  had  designed,  and  which 
did  credit  to  his  ingenuity,  if  not  to  any  other 
of  his  virtues.  Sallie,  according  to  his  arrange- 
ments, was  to  return  to  Tisdale,  and  to  present 
herself  to  her  husband  in  the  guise  of  a 
returned  prodigal.  John  would  receive  her 
with  open  arms  and  reinstate  her  with  love 
and  rejoicing  in  her  long  lost  home.  She  was 
to  do  every  thing  to  secure  his  confidence,  and 
to  persuade  him  that  the  future  was  safe.  All 
this  while,  however,  she  was  to  improve  every 
opportunity  of  giving  information  about  the 
routine  of  affairs  at  the  bank ;  when  large 
deposits  were  likely  to  be  on  hand,  and  how 
and  at  what  moment  the  safe  might  most 
expediently  be  attacked.  When  all  was  ready, 
she  was  to  act  as  confederate,  furnishing  the 
keys  of  the  doors,  and,  if  possible,  of   the  safe 


8o  JOH.Y  PARMFJ.FE'S  CURSE. 

itself,  and  taking  \vliate\'cr  means  n.ight  be 
effective  to  keep  Parmelce  out  of  the  way,  or 
at  least  to  disable  him  from  interfering  with 
the  operations.  When  the  booty  was  safely 
bagged,  Sallie  should  be  allowed  to  accompany 
her  brother  in  his  flight  to  another  land,  where 
they  would  live  together  in  luxury  on  the 
fruits  of  their  achievement. 

Nothing  was  wanting  to  the  execution  of 
this  design  except  Sallie's  consent  to  play  her 
part  in  it ;  and  Harold  spared  no  pains  to  win 
her  to  his  views.  He  began  by  assuring  her 
that  she  was  the  only  human  being  for  whom 
he  still  entertained  affection,  and  that  there 
was  nothing  he  w^ould  not  do  to  promote  her 
happiness  and  welfare.  He  then  w^ent  on  to 
put  an  unfavorable  construction  upon  her  hus- 
band's conduct,  who,  he  asserted,  had  in  the 
first  place  married  her  chiefly  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  receiving  a  large  dowry,  and  who  had 
subsequently  treated  her  with  unpardonable 
lack  of  feeling  and  consideration.  He  was  the 
secret  cause — so  Harold  averred — of  her  tak- 
ing to  opium  ;  and  he  had  then  harrassed  and 
persecuted    her    intg   leaving    him,      It    was 


JOHN  PA  R MELEE '  S  CURSE.  8 1 

doubtful,  in  Harold's  opinion,  whether  Par- 
melee  had  made  any  effort  whatever  to  recover 
her ;  at  all  events  he  had  done  no  more  than 
was  necessary  to  conciliate  public  opinion. 
Having  thus  suggested  to  her  weighty  reasons 
why  she  should  be  ready  to  requite  her  hus- 
band for  his  injustice  and  inhumanity,  Harold 
proceeded  cautiously  and  insinuatingly  to 
reveal  the  means  of  retaliation  which  he 
had  provided.  So  far,  Sallie  had  made  little 
or  no  resistance  to  his  suggestions;  and  he 
brought  his  argument  to  a  close  with  every 
assurance  that  he  had  not  counted  without  his 
host.     Nevertheless,  he  was  mistaken. 

For  some  time  Sallie  was  probably  unable  to 
grasp  the  full  significance  of  what  he  said  ;  for 
her  mind  acted  feebly  and  vaguely,  and  Harold 
expressed  himself  in  terms  the  euphemy  of 
which  was  at  first  more  apparent  than  their 
meaning.  When  at  length  the  truth  dawned 
upon  her,  she  gave  him  a  strange  look,  but 
said  nothing.  He  construed  her  silence  as  an 
indication  that  she  wanted  to  think  the  matter 
over  before  committing  herself,  and  cheerfully 
acquiesced  in  her  supposed  desire, 


82  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

Accordingly,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out 
to  attend  to  his  affairs,  having  previously  men- 
tioned the  hour  at  which  she  might  expect  his 
return.  It  was  a  long  while  since  he  had  been 
in  so  happy  and  hopeful  a  frame  of  mind  ;  and 
he  went  so  far  as  to  map  out  an  itinerary  for 
himself  during  the  next  few  years,  and  to 
specify  the  details  of  the  campaign  which  he 
now  proposed  to  undertake  against  the  world, 
armed  with  the  spoils  of  the  Tisdale  Bank 
depositors.  The  afternoon  passed  quickly  and 
pleasantl}%  and  at  the  appointed  hour  he 
returned  with  a  light  step  to  his  lodging.  He 
opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  he  had 
left  his  sister,  and  which,  in  his  overweening 
security,  he  had  omitted  to  fasten ;  and  he 
found  it  empty ! 

Harold  had  been  guilty  of  more  than  one 
miscalculation  in  the  course  of  his  career,  but 
never,  perhaps,  of  one  which  occasioned  him 
so  much  surprise  and  annoyance.  It  was  not 
only  a  bitter  disappointment — it  was  a  serious 
peril  as  well.  He  had  revealed  the  whole 
extent  of  his  plan  to  his  sister  ;  and  what  was 
to  prevent  her  from  going  straight  to  her  hus- 


JOHN-  PARMELEE  '5  CURSE.  83 

band  or  to  the  police,  and  lodging  the  informa- 
tion? Since  she  was  not  with  him,  he  argued, 
she  must  be  against  him  ;  possibly  she  might 
have  been  acting  the  detective  with  him  all 
along.  These  reflections  made  him  so  anxious 
that  he  finally  decided  to  change  his  abode  until 
it  became  evident  what  Sallie  was  going  to  do. 
*' And  this,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  is  my  reward 
for  doing  a  generous  action  !  "  He  determined 
never  again  to  make  such  a  fool  of  himself. 

Sallie,  meanwhile,  harbored  no  such  far- 
reaching  designs  as  her  brother  imagined.  The 
assurance  of  his  depravity,  coming  from  his 
own  lips,  had  overwhelmed  her  with  grief  and 
horror ;  it  made  her  realize  more  vividly  than 
any  thing  had  yet  done,  the  depth  to  which 
she  must  have  fallen.  He  would  not  have 
ventured  to  make  such  a  proposal  to  her,  unless 
he  had  thought  her  utterly  lost  to  virtue  and 
honor.  She  had  not  been  able  to  make  any 
reply  to  him  ;  she  had  neither  the  nerve  nor 
the  will  to  denounce  him  ;  she  could  only  think 
of  the  time  when  they  were  children  together 
in  their  nursery,  and  wonder  whether  this  were 
really   the   same   world   that   had  seemed    so 


S4  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

happy  and  innocent  then.  But  less  than  ever 
could  she  contemplate  the  idea  of  returning  to 
Tisdale  and  resuming  her  married  life.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  mere  fact  of  having  been 
made  the  confidant  of  such  a  suggestion  as 
Harold's  had  increased  and  confirmed  her 
degradation.  Her  only  impulse,  therefore,  was 
to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  hide  herself  in  deeper 
recesses  of  oblivion  than  ever. 

For  those  who  have  neither  committed 
crimes  nor  got  money,  concealment  in  a  large 
city  is  not  a  dif^cult  matter.  Harold  did  not 
venture  to  look  for  her,  and  no  one  else  was 
concerned  to  do  so.  If  she  had  walked  into 
the  river,  no  one  would  have  missed  her.  More 
than  a  year  passed  away.  Harold  had  got  over 
his  scare,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Sallie  must  simply  have  wandered  off  in  a  state 
of  temporary  insanity.  He  blamed  himself  for 
not  having  considered  her  irresponsible  con- 
dition, and  esteemed  himself  fortunate  in  that 
he  had  not  succeeded  in  getting  her  to  return 
to  Tisdale.  An  opium-eater  is  not  a  person  to 
whom  can  be  safely  entrusted  the  management 
of  so  important  a  conspiracy. 


JOHN-  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  85 

One  day,  while  passing  through  a  shim  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  city,  he  met  his  sister 
emerging  from  an  opium-joint,  in  a  condition 
of  partial  aberration.  She  seemed  dimly  to 
recognize  him,  but  to  retain  no  memory  of  what 
had  happened  at  their  last  interview.  He 
walked  along  beside  her,  and  found  that  she 
occupied  a  room  in  a  house  contiguous  to  that 
in  which  he  himself  lodged.  He  happened  to 
be  in  funds  at  the  moment,  and  gave  her  a  dol- 
lar toward  meeting  her  expenses.  It  was  just 
as  well,  he  told  himself,  to  keep  on  the  right 
side  of  Sallie  ;  she  might  be  able  to  do  him  no 
good,  but  she  would  be  the  less  likely  to  do  him 
any  harm.  From  time  to  time,  after  this,  he 
visited  her,  and  kept  a  general  watch  over  her 
movements.  In  a  certain  w'ay  he  was  afraid  of 
her  ;  there  was  something  in  the  dreamy  stare 
of  her  large  dark  eyes  that  he  could  never 
frankly  meet.  There  was  also  a  superstitious 
element  in  his  feeling  for  her  ;  he  had  a  notion 
that  if  she  were  ever  to  oppose  him  in  any  of 
his  undertakings,  he  would  be  certain  to  fail, 
and  to  fail  disastrously.  Therefore,  he  always 
turned  his  best  side  toward  her,   and  endeav- 


^6  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE, 

ored  to  make  her  associate  the  idea  of  him 
only  with  what  was  agreeable.  Sallie,  for  her 
part,  accepted  his  ministrations,  such  as  they 
were,  in  a  passive,  undemonstrative  way,  like  a 
person  in  a  fit  of  pre-occupation.  She  never 
spoke  about  herself  or  about  him,  or  ventured 
remarks  of  any  kind ;  and  often  she  omitted  to 
answer  the  questions  he  addressed  to  her.  But 
at  all  events  she  did  not  betray  any  hostility 
toward  him ;  and  with  this  negative  attitude  he 
was  fain  to  be  content.  It  certainly  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  this  lost  and  bewildered 
sister  of  his  could  be  watching  him,  as  he  was 
watching  her,  though  from  very  different 
motives. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  summer  of  the  year 
we  are  concerned  with,  business  had  been  bad 
with  Harold,  and  it  became  necessary  to  do 
something  vigorous.  After  going  over  the 
ground  of  all  his  good,  bad  and  indifferent 
schemes,  nothing  seemed  to  afford  a  better 
chance  of  practical  returns  than  the  old  plot 
against  the  Tisdale  Bank.  It  might  not  be  the 
time  when  the  largest  balance  would  be  on 
hand ;  but  on  the  other  hand   the  precautions 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  87 

against  attack  would  probably  be  correspond- 
ingly lax.  The  undertaking  would  be  further 
facilitated  by  the  fact  that  Harold  would  be 
assisted  by  two  experienced  craftsmen,  with 
whom  he  had  for  some  time  past  been  in  part- 
nership. He  held  several  deliberations  with 
these  gentlemen  at  his  room  in  the  southwest 
quarter  of  the  city,  at  which  the  details  of  the 
affair  were  carefully  gone  into,  and  each  man's 
share  of  the  booty  determined.  Finally,  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  with  which  our  story 
opens,  the  three  men  boarded  their  train,  and 
started  for  the  scene  of  their  proposed  exploit. 


IX. 


THE  house  and  the  bank  now  stood  empty 
and  unguarded.  The  night  was  very  dark  ; 
the  sky  was  covered  with  clouds.  A  few  dim 
street  lamps,  flickering  here  and  there  in  the 
distance,  served  only  to  make  the  broad  inter- 
vening spaces  of  shadow  seem  more  black. 

No  one  was  abroad ;  except,  perhaps,  the 
new  deputy  constable,  Mr.  Richards,  who  was 
sauntering  slowly  down  some  far-off  street, 
wondering  whether  any  thing  would  ever  hap- 
pen in  Tisdale  to  give  him  an  adventure  and  a 
paragraph  in  the  Tisdale  Gazette.  Richards 
was  an  ambitious  young  fellow,  but  zeal  seemed 
thrown  away  in  so  peaceful  a  town  as  this. 

Such  a  thing  as  a  malefactor  of  any  descrip- 
tion had  not  been  seen  in  Tisdale  for  a  year  ; 
even  a  drunken  man  was  a  rarity.  As  for  a 
burglary,  Richards  remembered  to  have  heard 
a  tradition  of  some  such  thing  when  he  was  a 
boy,  but  he  was  far  from  indulging  a  hope  for 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  89 

any  personal  experience  of  the  kind.  Locks 
and  bolts  were  of  no  use  in  Tisdale,  unless,  per- 
haps, for  the  bank.  But  even  there  they  were 
only  a  matter  of  form. 

"  Why,  jest  look  at  it !  "  said  Richards  to 
himself,  switching  the  autumnal  leaves  away 
from  the  path  with  his  cane,  and  shifting  his 
lantern  further  up  his  left  arm,  "jest  look  at 
the  way  the  directors  leaves  things  !  What's  to 
prevent  Mr.  Parmelee,  if  he  had  a  mind,  going 
off  with  every  blessed  cent  in  the  bank,  any 
night  of  his  life  ?  Why,  he  keeps  house  in  the 
safe,  one  might  say,  with  the  key  in  his  pocket  ! 
It  ain't  that  John  Parmelee  ever  would  think 
of  sech  a  thing;  there  airi't  a  better  nor  a 
squarer  feller  in  Tisdale ;  though  he  has  been  a 
bit  queer  the  last  year  or  two  ;  no,  it  ain't  that ; 
it's  the  principle  of  the  thing  !  A  man's  only 
a  man,  when  all's  said  ;  and  he  hadn't  ought  to 
be  tempted,  even  if  he  can  resist  it !  " 

These  reflections,  perhaps  owing  to  the  well- 
known  influence  of  the  mind  over  the  body, 
had  the  effect  of  half  consciously  leading  Mr. 
Richards  in  the  direction  of  the  bank  with 
which  his  thoughts  were  occupied.     His  foot- 


90  JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

steps  echoed  along  the  empty  streets,  and  he 
felt  as  much  alone  in  the  world  as  if  the  judg- 
ment day  had  been  yesterday. 

At  this  very  time,  however,  three  persons  of 
the  kind  whose  scarcity  the  deputy  constable, 
as  an  ambitious  officer,  deplored,  were  proceed- 
ing, from  another  direction,  toward  the  same 
goal  as  himself.  They  had  alighted  from  the 
New  York  train,  at  a  station  four  miles  above 
Tisdale,  and  were  walking,  in  single  file,  along 
the  country  road  leading  back  to  that  town. 

They  walked  at  a  fair  pace,  but  noiselessly, 
and  seldom  interchanging  a  word.  The  second 
man  in  the  line  maintained  a  distance  of  about 
four  yards  between  himself  and  the  leader,  and 
was  as  much  in  advance  of  him  who  brought 
up  the  rear. 

The  leader  was  tall  and  well  made,  and  was 
much  better  dressed  than  either  of  his  two  com- 
panions. He  wore  a  silk  hat  on  his  head,  and 
carried  a  light  silver-headed  cane,  which  he 
twirled  between  his  fingers  as  he  stepped  along. 
His  gait  and  bearing  showed  good  breeding; 
and  you  would  have  taken  him,  had  you  met 
him,  for  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  strolling  out 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  91 

for  a  breath  of  cool  air,  in  order  to  sleep  the 
better. 

The  second  man  was  of  a  different  build  and 
aspect.  He  was  very  broad  in  the  shoulders, 
with  thick,  bandy  legs ;  and  he  swung  himself 
from  side  to  side  as  he  walked.  His  big  head, 
with  its  bushy  hair,  was  protected  by  a  cloth 
cap,  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  His  arms  were 
of  unusual  length,  and  in  his  right  hand  he  car- 
ried a  sort  of  portmanteau,  which,  from  the  way 
it  "chinked"  when  it  struck  against  his  leg, 
must  have  contained  some  metallic  objects. 

The  last  man  was  smaller  than  either  of  the 
others,  and  of  a  meager  and  flimsy  frame.  He 
had  the  air  of  a  broken-down  barber  who  had 
been  on  a  long  spree.  He  slouched  along  like 
a  dog  with  its  tail  between  its  legs,  frequently 
glancing  behind  him ;  and  he  carried  a  dark 
lantern,  with  its  slide  closed. 

By  and  by  the  little  party  entered  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  town,  and  drew  near  the  bank. 
This  stood  at  the  corner  of  two  streets,  with  a 
broad  vacant  space  on  one  side  of  it.  A  board 
fence  bounded  this  space  on  the  street  by  which 
they  were  journeying ;    and  at  the  hither  ex- 


9 2  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

tremity  of  the  fence  was  a  large  elm  tree,  the 
spreading  branches  of  which  still  retained  many 
of  their  golden  and  brown  leaves.  Beneath 
this  tree  the  three  came  to  a  halt. 

*'  Give  me  the  lantern,  Dick,"  said  the  tall 
man  to  the  broken-down  barber.  ''Your  beat 
is  between  this  tree  and  the  bank.  If  you 
smell  any  danger,  whistle  once,  and  then  over 
the  fence,  and  meet  us  at  the  back." 

''  How  long  will  you  be?"  Dick  inquired. 

"  Half  an  hour  at  the  outside.  The  safe's 
twenty  years  old  if  it's  a  day,  and  I  know  how 
to  work  the  lock.  Mike,  "  he  added,  to  the 
broad-shouldered  man,  "  do  you  follow  me  with 
the  tools.  I  shall  enter  by  the  kitchen  window. 
All  ready?" 

'' Phwat  about  the  chap  in"  charge?"  asked 
Mike,  in  a  strong  brogue.  ''  Will  I  wring  the 
dirty  spalpeen's  neck?" 

''  Not  unless  he  kicks  too  much.  But  that'll 
be  all  right.  He'll  be  abed  and  snoring,  and 
will  only  need  a  handkerchief  down  his  throat, 
and  his  hands  tied.  As  for  the  kid,  she's  noth- 
ing I  We're  in  for  big  money,  boys  I  Come 
on!" 


JOHN  P'ARMELEE'S  CURSE.  93 

"  I  ain't  easy  in  my  mind  yet,"  said  Dick,  in 
a  querulous  tone.  *'  That  there  crazy  Sal  looked 
too  blamed  knowin'  to  suit  me.  Say,  what  if 
she'd  tumbled  to  the  game,  and  split  on  the 
whole  gang  of  us?" 

"  It  isn't  the  crazy  ones  that  make  the  trouble  ; 
it's  the  fools,  like  you ! "  replied  the  tall  man 
sharply.  ''There'd  be  no  harm  in  Sal, — not  if 
she'd  been  sitting  by  when  we  planned  the  job. 
Those  opium  fiends  never  know  any  thing  any- 
way, and  what  they  do  know  they  forget  the 
next  minute.  Besides,  Sal  knows  me,  and  she 
wouldn't  split  on  any  thing  I  had  a  hand  in.  So 
keep  your  eye  open  and  hold  your  tongue. 
Come  on,  Mike  !  " 

The  two  men  got  over  the  board  fence,  and 
were  immediately  lost  to  sight. 

Dick,  left  to  himself,  slouched  slowly  and 
cautiously  down  the  road  toward  the  bank, 
pausing  at  every  few  steps  to  look  and  listen. 
He  had  the  keen  senses  of  an  animal,  and  a 
singularly  acute  intelligence  of  the  instinctive 
sort ;  but  in  other  respects  he  was  considerably 
below  the  animal  level.  He  acted  as  a  sort  of 
antennae  for  his  bolder  and  stronger  associates, 


94  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

and  possessed  an  almost  preternatural  scent  for 
approaching  danger. 

It  took  him  four  or  five  minutes  to  traverse 
the  hundred  yards  between  the  elm  and  the 
corner  on  which  the  bank  stood.  Having 
reached  this  he  glanced  circumspectly  round  it, 
and  down  the  adjoining  street. 

Nothing  was  in  sight  in  that  direction. 

He  waited  three  minutes  there,  then  drew 
back,  and  began  to  retrace  his  steps  toward  the 
elm  tree. 

Destiny  will  sometimes  defeat  the  ablest 
human  precautions.  If  Dick  had  remained  at 
the  corner  only  ten  seconds  longer  he  would 
have  seen  the  gleam  of  Mr.  Richard's  lantern 
approaching  from  the  other  end  of  the  block. 
As  it  was,  he  saw  nothing,  and  therefore  gave 
no  alarm  ;  and  the  inevitable  consequences 
followed. 

He  had  nearly  reached  the  elm,  on  his  return 
trip,  when  the  deep  stillness  of  the  night  was 
broken  by  a  crash  of  glass  and  a  sharp  explosion. 
Following  these  came  the  harsh  whirr  of  a 
policeman's  rattle. 

Dick  vaulted  over  the   fence   and   ran  down 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  95 

the  other  side  of  the  vacant  space.  In  a 
moment  the  thud  of  hurrying  footsteps  was 
heard  approaching  through  the  darkness,  and 
Mike  and  the  tall  man  came  plunging  forward, 
and  had  almost  stumbled  over  Dick  before  they 
saw  him. 

*'  Did  you  collar  the  cash  ?  "  was  his  question. 

"  No,  hang  'em !  There  was  something 
wrong,"  replied  the  tall  man,  breathing  heavily. 
He  held  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  from  which  he 
now  ejected  an  empty  cartridge  and  replaced  it 
with  a  new  one. 

"Something  wrong,  eh?"  snarled  Dick. 
"  Well,  what  was  I  tellin'  yer  ?  I  never  had  no 
confidence  in  this  job  !     What  was  it?  " 

"  The  cashier  and  his  kid  were  both  gone," 
continued  the  other  ;  ''  that  looked  a  little  fishy 
to  begin  with.  However,  we  got  through  into 
the  safe  all  right ;  but,  by  the  holy  poker!  it 
was  as  empty  as  your  skull.  Then  Mike,  here, 
must  of  course  drop  the  jimmy  on  the  floor ; 
and  the  next  thing,  up  went  the  window  ;  and, 
sure  enough,  if  there  wasn't  a  cop,  with  his 
shooting  iron  pointed  I  I  got  the  drop  on  him, 
though  ;  and  I  guess  I  winged  him !     But  the 


96  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

town  will  be  up  in  another  minute,  boys,  and 
we  must  hook  it !  Each  man  take  his  own 
road,  and  meet  at  the  second  station  below,  on 
the  east  line.  There's  a  train  down  at  three 
o'clock.     So  !  off  we  go  !  " 

And  this  was  the  end  of  the  famous  Tisdale 
bank  robbery ! 


X. 


MEANWHILE,  in  response  to  the  unpre- 
cedented sounds  of  Mr.  Richard's  rattle, 
the  neighboring  population  of  Tisdale  began  to 
grunt,  yawn,  and  rub  its  eyes,  and  to  wonder 
what  had  broken  loose  in  their  peaceful  midst. 
Several  bedroom  windows  in  the  vicinity  were 
thrown  open  ;  and  the  occupants  of  one  or  two 
of  these,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  bank, 
saw  a  lantern  waved  vigorously,  and  heard  a 
voice  vociferating : 

''Thieves!  Robbery!  Murder!  Help!" 
At  first  the  listeners  surmised  that  a  villan- 
ous  practical  joke  was  perpetrating  ;  but,  as  the 
shouts  continued,  some  fancied  that  they  recog- 
nized the  accents  of  Mr.  Richards,  and  were 
relu'ctantly  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  some- 
thing was  really  the  matter.  Hereupon  the 
boldest  among  them  slipped  on  their  boots, 
trowsers  and  overcoats,  armed  themselves  with 
such  weapons  as  were  at  hand,  and  issued  forth 
to  do  battle  with  the  unknown  enemy. 


98  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

In  the  course  of  ten  minutes  a  small  group 
of  these  amateur  defenders  of  the  peace,  their 
numbers  slowly  augmenting  by  the  arrival  of 
later  stragglers,  had  gathered  round  the  deputy 
constable,  and  were  eagerly  listening  to  a  tale 
of  horror  from  his  lips.  Mr.  Richards  sat  upon 
a  wheelbarrow,  with  his  coat  off  and  the  left 
sleeve  of  his  shirt  turned  up.  He  had  been 
wounded  in  the  upper  part  of  the  arm,  and 
while  the  wound  was  being  dressed  he  told 
his  story  proudly,  yet  m.odestly,  as  a  hero 
should. 

At  his  suggestion,  moreover,  a  squad  of  war- 
riors were  detailed  to  pursue  the  robbers,  and 
drag  them  back  in  chains.  But,  inasmuch  as 
the  night  was  dark,  the  direction  in  which  the 
robbers  had  departed  unknown,  and  the  energy 
and  persistence  of  the  pursuers  somewhat  defi- 
cient, no  practical  results  followed  from  this 
move. 

Better  success  attended  the  deputation  which 
went  to  inform  the  directors  of  the  catastrophe. 
Three  of  these  four  dignitaries  were  at  home — 
the  president,  the  venerable  Amos  Pierson ; 
Mr.    Fred   Tyrrel,  a   much  younger  man,  but 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  99 

reputed  to  be  the  wealthiest  person  in  Tisdale-, 
and  Dr.  Coffin,  an  eminently  respectable  indi- 
vidual, but  somewhat  wanting  in  originality 
and  vigor  of  mind.  These  gentlemen  made 
their  appearance  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour; 
and,  having  surveyed  the  scene  of  the  outrage, 
they  withdrew  with  Richards  into  the  seclusion 
of  the  bank  parlor  to  compare  notes  and  decide 
upon  their  line  of  action.  The  rest  of  the 
assembled  citizens,  finding  themselves  left  out 
in  the  cold,  returned  to  their  several  homes, 
and  presumably  enlightened  their  wives  as  to 
the  history  of  the  night. 

''Take  a  seat,  Richards,"  said  Mr.  Pierson. 
"  Now,  will  you  oblige  us  by  giving  an  exact 
account  of  what  happened,  as  you  saw  it,  from 
beginning  to  end  ?  " 

'*  Well,  sir,"  began  Richards,  with  his  mental 
eye  fixed  upon  the  column  headed  *'  The  Great 
Bank  Robbery,"  in  the  forthcoming  issue  of 
the  Tisdale  Gazette,  "  it  was  this  way  :  I'd  been 
havin'  the  bank  in  my  mind,  and  how  nothin' 
out  of  the  way  had  ever  happened  to  it,  and 
thinks  I,  I'll  pass  by  it  and  take  a  look.  So 
along  I  come,  just  as  usual,  not  expectin'  noth- 


100  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

in',  you  may  be  sure.  It's  all  right,  says  I  to 
myself,  of  course  it  is ! 

"Well,  gentlemen,  I  came  along,  and  I  see 
a  wheelbarrow  standin'  underneath  the  second 
window  there,  that  looks  into  the  parlor.  It 
was  Pat  Donan's  wheelbarrow,  I  guess  ;  he  was 
doin'  a  job  round  here  yesterday.  However, 
thinks  I,  I'll  just  step  up  on  it  and  take  a  squint 
inside.  It's  a  cur'ous  thing,  gentlemen,  the  way 
small  accidents  sometimes  leads  the  way  to 
important  consequences,  as  I  might  say." 

'*  Keep  to  the  point,  Richards,"  said  Mr. 
Pierson,  impassively. 

"  I'm  at  it  right  now,  sir,"  the  deputy  con- 
stable replied.  "  I  got  on  top  of  the  wheelbar- 
row, as  I  was  sayin',  and  jest  as  I  done  so — 
bringing  my  head  up  to  about  half  the  height 
of  the  lower  sash — I  hears  somethin'  fall,  and 
sees  the  ilash  of  a  lantern.  I  didn't  wait  for 
no  more  ;  I  smashes  the  window,  turns  the 
bolt  and  throws  up  the  sash.  At  the  same 
time  I  grabs  for  my  revolver,  and  throws  the 
light  of  my  lantern  into  the  room.  I  hadn't 
more  than  done  so,  gentlemen,  when  I  hears  a 
big  noise,  and  feels  a  bullet  here  in  my  arm. 


J  >  ,  '  '    '    ' 


JOHN  PA  SM^LEE '  S  CURSE,  I  o  I 

I  drops  back'ard  off  tlie  wKeelbarrow  ;  but  up 
again  the  next  minute,  and  springs  my  rattle." 

"  That  includes  all  your  personal  share  in  the 
matter?"  inquired  Mr.  Pierson. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  done  my  best,"  returned 
Richards,  a  little  crestfallen ;  "  but  bein* 
wounded,  you  see,  and  every  thin*  goin*  so 
quick  like — " 

"  How  many  persons  did  you  see  at  the 
safe  ?  "  asked  Fred  Tyrrel.  He  was  sitting  on 
the  table,  with  one  foot  touching  the  floor  ; 
and  held  in  his  hand  a  small  metal  box,  which 
he  had  picked  up  in  John  Parmelee's  sitting- 
room,  and  which  none  of  the  others  had 
noticed. 

*'  I  should  say  there  was  four  or  five,  sir  ;  but 
I  don't  know  as  I  could  swear  to  more  nor  four, 
or  may  be  three." 

"  Could  you  recognize  the  faces  of  any  of 
them  ?  " 

"Well,  no;  not  quite  that,  sir.  It  was  too 
dark  to  see  any  thin'  more  than  the  figgers," 
said  Richards,  cautiously. 

**  Did  the  figures  remind  you  of  any  one  you 
had  ever  seen  before  ?  " 


t02  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CUP SE, 

"  Well,  sir,  one  on  'em  was  a  good  height — 
'twas  him  as  fired  at  me.  T'other  wasn't  so 
tall.  No,  I  can't  say  as  I  have  seen  'em  before 
— not  to  swear  to." 

**  I  presume,"  interposed  Mr,  Pierson, 
addressing  Tyrrel,  "  that  the  object  of  these 
interrogatories  is  to  obtain  confirmation  of  the 
impression  (which,  I  fear,  none  of  us  can  avoid 
sharing)  that  this  crime  was  perpetrated  by  a 
man  who  has  for  many  years  enjoyed  our 
unlimited  confidence?" 

"  I  expect  to  confirm  my  conviction  that 
John  Parmelee  had  nothing  to  do  with  robbing 
this  safe,"  returned  Tyrrel,  composedly. 

"  Eh  ?  You  surprise  me ! "  the  president 
exclaimed.  "  Have  we  not  all  of  us  seen  that 
Parmelee  is  missing  ?  that  his  bed  has  not  been 
slept  in?  and  that  his  daughter  is  also  gone? 
Considering  the  juncture  at  which  he  has  dis- 
appeared, could  you  ask  for  stronger  presump- 
tive evidence  that  he  is  the  guilty  party?  " 

**  To  be  sure  ;  what  could  be  more  presump- 
tive? "  added  Dr.  Coffin. 

"  Parmelee's  absence  just  now  is  unfortunate 
— I  don't  deny  that,"  replied  Tyrrel;  "and  I 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  103 

don't  pretend  to  know  the  cause  of  it.  But  I 
see  no  reason  to  believe  that  it  has  any  thing 
to  do  with  this  robbery.  He  has  been  in  this 
bank  thirty  years,  and  not  a  word  was  ever  said 
against  his  honesty.  I  suspect,"  he  added, 
tapping  the  metal  box  in  his  hand,  *'  that  we 
shall  find  another  explanation  of  his  disap- 
pearance." 

"  Possibly  ;  I  should  not  wonder,"  assented 
Dr.  Coffin. 

**  I  should  rejoice  to  believe  him  innocent," 
said  Mr.  Pierson  ;  "  but,  so  far,  the  case  looks 
badly.  The  coincidence  you  suggest  is  rather 
a  violent  one.  He  had  free  access  to  the  safe ; 
he  may  have  had  debts,  embarrassments,  for 
all  we  know  ;  and — " 

**  Richards,  how  long  have  you  known  Mr 
Parmelee?"  Tyrrel  interrupted. 

''Well,  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  sir." 

"  Had  he,  to  your  knowledge,  any  bad 
habits  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  sir — no.  Didn't 
drink  ;  didn't  play  no  cards  nor  billiards  ;  didn't 
frequent  no  loose  company.  No,  sir,  John  was 
a  good,  steady  man,  so  far  as  I  ever  see  ;  though 


104  JOHN  PARMELEE  '5  CURSE. 

I  will  say  he  has  been  gettin'  a  bit  queer  lately. 
A  little  off  in  the  head,  maybe." 

"  Exactly  !  "  said  Tyrrel,  putting  the  box  in 
his  pocket.     "  Now,  how  was  the  safe  opened  ?  " 

"  Skeleton  key,  sir,"  answered  Richards, 
producing  it  from  his  pocket.  "  There  was  a 
kit  of  tools,  too,  but  they  wasn't  needed.  'Twas 
an  old-style  lock  and  easy  to  pick." 

*' You  see  how  it  is,  gentlemen,"  said  Tyrrel, 
turning  to  the  others.  "The  cashier  of  this 
bank  didn't  need  a  skeleton  key  to  open  the 
safe;  he  didn't  need  from  two  to  four  confede- 
rates ;  and  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  he  even 
needed  money.  Then  there's  his  unblemished 
character  for  thirty  years.  His  absence  is  the 
only  thing  against  him,  and  that  may  have  been 
caused  by  the  very  men  who  planned  and  car- 
ried out  this  robbery.  They  would  be  forced 
to  dispose  of  him  somehow,  in  any  case." 

*'  I  trust  you  may  be  right,"  said  Mr.  Pierson, 
shaking  his  head,  "  but  we  can  not  overlook  the 
fact  that  the  skeleton  key  and  the  confederates 
may  have  been  merely  blinds,  to  throw  us  off 
the  scent.  I  consider  it  our  duty,  as  at  present 
advised,  to  obtain  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,  and 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  105 

to  advertise  a  reward,  also.  We  owe  something 
to  our  depositors." 

*'  Quite  so  !  "  murmured  Dr.  Coffin. 

"  Yes — fifty-seven  thousand  and  odd  dollars ! " 
added  Tyrrel,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 
"  Well,  if  you  two  say  so,  do  as  you  please  ! 
By  the  way,  Coffin,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  Well,  I  hardly — it  is  difficult  to  know 
what  to  determine,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"  Those  are  the  orders,  then,  Richards,"  said 
Mr.  Pierson,  buttoning  up  his  overcoat  and  put- 
ting on  his  hat.  *' A  warrant  for  the  arrest  of 
John  Parmelee  and  $1,000  reward." 

"I'll  attend  to  it,  sir,"  said  Richards,  pen- 
sively. 

"And  so  will  I  attend  to  it !"  said  Fred 
Tyrrel  to  himself,  as  he  lit  a  cigar  and  walked 
homeward.  "  I'll  follow  up  my  own  clew ; 
and  we'll  see  which  comes  out  ahead — those 
dunderheads  or  I !  " 


XI. 


THE  Tisdale  bank  robbery  took  place  on  a 
Wednesday  night  in  October.  At  noon 
on  Thursday  a  reporter  of  one  of  the  New  York 
papers  aHghted  at  the  station,  and  proceeded  to 
interview  everybody.  At  four  o'clock  he  took 
the  down  train  back,  passing  on  his  way  the 
reporters  of  the  other  papers,  who  had  got  the 
scent  an  hour  or  two  later,  and  on  Friday  morn- 
ing the  journal  with  which  he  was  connected 
published  an  unique  account  of  the  affair,  and 
he  deposited  an  ample  check  to  the  credit  of 
his  bank  account. 

The  narrative  was  picturesque  and  dramatic, 
and  was  illustrated  by  a  sketch  of  the  bank 
building,  and  a  ground  plan,  showing  the  com- 
munication between  the  cashier's  sitting-room 
and  the  bank  parlor.  There  was  also  a  por- 
trait cf  Mr.  Richards,  with  his  left  arm  in  a 
sling ;  and  another  portrait  of  John  Parmelee, 
the   reputed    robber.     This,    however,    having 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  107 

been  composed  from  a  verbal  description,  given 
by  a  person  not  trained  to  observe  accurately, 
would  scarcely  of  itself  have  sufficed  to  insure 
Mr.  Parmelee's  recognition. 

The  cashier's  biography  was  presented  in 
detail;  it  was  told  how  his  maltreatment  of  his 
wife  had  finally  led  to  her  disappearance  and 
supposed  suicide.  Mention  was  likewise  made 
of  their  little  daughter,  Sophie,  and  it  was  told 
how  her  morals  had  deteriorated  under  her 
father's  evil  influence,  until  she  had  assisted 
him  in  his  crime,  and  accompanied  him  in  his 
flight  with  the  booty. 

As  an  appendix  to  all  this  the  history  of  the 
bank  was  rehearsed,  from  the  earliest  times 
down  to  the  present  day ;  its  prosperity  and 
respectability  were  celebrated,  and  the  names 
of  its  various  presidents  and  directors  were 
enumerated.  Finally  it  was  intimated  that  the 
police  were  already  on  the  trail  of  the  criminal, 
and  a  copy  of  the  reward  of  $1,000  for  the 
apprehension  of  John  Parmelee  wound  up  the 
whole,  which  occupied  three  and  a  half  columns 
on  the  first  page. 

An  extra  size  edition  was  printed  to  rneet  the 


io8  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

demand,  and  the  newsdealers  and  boys  did  a 
great  business.  During  the  whole  of  that  day 
the  robbery  was  one  of  the  chief  topics  of  con- 
versation. In  the  evening  there  was  a  report 
that  Parmelee  had  escaped  to  Canada. 

It  was  a  time  of  political  excitement  in  New 
York.  There  were  four  candidates  for  the  pres- 
idency in  the  field ;  and  each  of  the  several 
parties  and  organizations  were  holding  meet- 
ings, capturing  voters,  and  striving  in  all  ways, 
fair  or  foul,  to  convince  the  public  that  the  integ- 
rity of  the  republic  depended  upon  the  election 
of  this  or  that  individual. 

Placards  of  meetings,  and  lists  of  appointees 
for  municipal  ofiBces,  w^ere  posted  throughout 
the  city.  Impassioned  orators  addressed  boist- 
erous audiences  ;  beer  saloons  and  rum  shops 
were  crowded  with  drinkers  and  talkers,  brought 
thither  in  cabs  chartered  by  the  political  man- 
agers, and  treated  free. 

Processions  with  banners  and  music  paraded 
the  streets  and  obstructed  trafific ;  the  city 
seemed  to  contain  double  its  usual  population  ; 
the  rough  element  was  holding  carnival  every- 
where, and  noise  and  disorder  prevailed. 


JOHN  PA  R MELEE '  S  CURSE.  1 09 

In  seasons  such  as  these,  all  manner  of  odd 
and  uncouth  characters,  who  in  quieter  times 
keep  out  of  sight,  emerge  from  their  slums  and 
hiding-places,  and  stalk  about  like  uneasy  and 
ominous  specters,  in  broad  daylight. 

The  popular  mind,  in  its  excitement  and  pre- 
occupation, either  does  not  heed  them  at  all, 
or  accepts  them  as  a  sort  of  symbolic  incarna- 
tion of  the  omnipresent  moral  upheaval  and 
unrest,  and  thus  accords  them,  for  the  time 
being,  exceptional  freedom  and  immunity. 
When  the  atmosphere  is  serene  again,  they 
vanish  into  their  lairs,  like  obscene  reptiles  and 
beasts  of  prey  at  the  approach  of  dawn. 

Such  being  the  case,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  eccentric  tramp  who  appeared  in  the 
upper  part  of  Manhattan  Island,  on  the  after- 
noon of  Friday,  should  have  attracted  compar- 
atively little  attention.  He  was  only  one  of 
hundreds  more  or  less  outwardly  like  him. 

Nevertheless,  to  those  interested  in  the  va- 
garies and  whimsicalities  of  human  nature,  he 
might  have  afforded  a  curious  subject  of  study. 

Under  more  favorable  circumstances,  he 
would  have  looked  a  personable  man  enough  ; 


no  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

he  was  of  fair  height,  and  well-featured,  and  his 
blue  eyes  were  set  beneath  dark  and  defined 
brows.  He  was  a  little  beyond  middle  age, 
though  fatigue  and  hardship  made  him  look 
not  less  than  fifty.  His  attire  was  respectable, 
but  appeared  to  have  suffered  temporary  deface- 
ment, as  if  he  had  been  up  all  night,  amid 
untoward  surroundings. 

A  careless  observer  might  have  thought  him 
slightly  intoxicated  ;  but  this  was  not  the  case. 
His  extreme  pallor,  and  his  sunken  cheeks, 
indicated  rather  that  he  was  weak  from  lack 
of  nourishment  ;  and  though  he  wavered  occa- 
sionally in  his  walk,  the  cause  was  exhaustion, 
not  inebriety. 

It  was  evident,  however,  that  his  brain  was 
not  in  a  normal  condition.  His  eyes  were 
bright  and  restless ;  a  strange  variety  of  ex- 
pressions flitted  continually  across  his  face  ;  and 
though,  at  times,  he  seemed  to  be  looking  at 
something  with  rapt  attention,  it  was  noticeable 
that  his  regards  were  never  fixed  upon  any 
object  visible  to  other  eyes. 

Occasionally,  he  would  pass  his  hand  trem- 
blingly  over   his  eyes  and  mouth,  and  glance 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  I II 

quickly  to  the  right  and  left.  Again,  he  would 
draw  himself  up  with  a  nervous  shiver,  smile, 
nod  his  head,  and  make  gestures  with  his  arms  ; 
his  lips  moving  rapidly  the  while,  as  if  in  active 
though  noiseless  conversation.  Yet  he  appeared 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  curious  stares  of 
passers-by. 

Once,  near  the  upper  part  of  Central  Park, 
at  a  place  where  a  house  was  building,  he  seated 
himself  on  a  barrel  head,  and,  passing  his 
fingers  over  the  top  of  a  low  wall  in  front  of 
him  as  if  it  were  the  keyboard  of  a  piano,  he 
began  to  sing,  in  a  quavering  voice,  a  senti- 
mental love  song : 

I  loved  my  love  last  year  ; 
We  met,  in  the  month  of  June  ; 
"When  I  kissed  her  on  the  mouth 
Love's  surprise  was  in  her  eyes. 
When  we  kissed,  as  earth  in  drouth 
Kisses  the  kissing  rain, 
Love's  music  was  in  tune  : 
Now — we  shall  not  kiss  again, 

A  crowd  of  workmen  and  loafers  collected 
around  him,  applauding  and  laughing.  But  all 
at  once  he  stopped,  arose,  gazed  vacantly  about, 
and  resumed  his  way. 


1 1 2  JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  CURSE. 

In  this  fashion  the  unknown  tramp  gradually 
made  his  way  down  Fifth  avenue.  It  was  sun- 
set when  he  passed  the  town  boundary  of  Cen- 
tral Park.  The  voices  of  the  newsboys  were 
heard,  crying  an  ''extra!" — "  Escape  of  John 
Parmelee,  the  bank  robber,  to  Canada  !"  The 
tramp  paid  no  attention  to  the  announcement, 
even  when  one  of  the  boys  offered  him  a  paper. 
And  yet  he  ought  to  have  been  interested,  for 
he  was  no  other  than  John  Parmelee  himself. 

Leaving  Tisdale  near  midnight  on  Wednes- 
day, he  had  traveled  on  foot  all  the  distance 
to  New  York — more  than  fifty  miles — and  dur- 
ing that  long  journey  he  had  scarcely  slept, 
and  had  eaten  only  the  apples  that  he  picked 
up  by  the  wayside. 

Opium  eaters  often  exhibit  singular  powers 
of  endurance,  in  the  way  of  abstinence  from 
food  and  continuous  exertion ;  the  effect  of 
the  drug  upon  the  brain,  w^hether  stimulating 
or  sedative,  seeming  partially  to  counteract 
fatigue  and  exhaustion.  But  Parmelee  had,  by 
this  time,  nearly  come  to  the  end  of  his  arti- 
ficial support.  The  double  dose  he  had  taken 
on  Wednesday,  while  making  him  delirious,  had 


JOHN  PARMELEE'  S  CURSE.  1 13 

probably  carried  him  further  than  he  would 
otherwise  have  gone  ;  but  he  had  missed  his 
usual  supply  on  Thursday,  and  was  already 
suffering  acute  nervous  anguish  for  the  want  of 
it.  The  delusions  which  haunted  him,  more- 
over, would  soon  clear  away,  and  when  he  awoke 
from  his  insanity  to  find  himself,  he  knew  not 
how,  in  a  strange  place,  he  would  be  in  danger 
of  total  collapse.  The  phantom  of  his  wife, 
which  had  led  him  so  far,  would  abandon  him 
in  the  midst  of  strangeness  and  hostility. 

Meanwhile  he  strayed  onward  between  the 
rows  of  stately  houses,  noticing  them  as  little 
as  he  did  the  people  on  the  sidewalks.  Im- 
mersed in  the  unsubstantial  world  of  his  be- 
wildered dreams  and  fantasies,  the  solid  stone 
and  mortar  and  flesh  and  blood  of  the  city  were 
as  little  real  to  him  as  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
upon  a  meadow. 

As  he'  proceeded  southward  the  avenue  be- 
came more  and  more  thronged  with  people, 
come  out  to  see  or  to  participate  in  the  politi- 
cal demonstrations.  They  delayed  his  course, 
but  never  altered  its  direction.  With  a  kind 
of  involuntary  persistence  he   edged  through 


1 1 4  JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  CURSE, 

and  round  the  groups,  always  with  that  odd, 
blank  glance  sent  forward  across  the  spaces  in 
front  of  him. 

A  little  above  Madison  Square  a  dense  crowd 
blocked  the  street  in  front  of  one  of  the  politi- 
cal club-houses.  Here  the  turmoil  and  excite- 
ment were  more  condensed  and  positive,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  the  wanderer  seemed  to  feel 
something  of  the  contagion. 

But,  if  so,  it  must  have  been  the  vague  mag- 
netism emanating  from  any  large  concourse  of 
human  beings,  animated  by  a  common  emotion 
or  purpose,  rather  than  any  comprehension  on 
his  part  of  the  objects  in  view^,  or  sympathy 
with  them. 

Nevertheless,  his  bearing  changed,  as  if  a 
stimulus  were  communicated  to  his  nerves.  The 
idea  (whatever  it  was)  that  dominated  his  brain 
flickered  up  for  awhile  into  new  energy. 

Arrived  at  the  junction  of  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Broadway,  he  took  the  latter  route,  and  pres- 
ently reached  Union  Square. 

Evening  had  now  set  in,  and  that  posthumous 
life  (so  to  speak)  of  a  great  city,  which  begins 
after  dark,  was  bestirring  itself. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  I15 

Many  people  were  on  their  way  to  theaters 

and  concerts  ;  others  were  going  out  to  dinner ; 

thieves   and    footpads   were    already   prowling 

about,  seeking  their  prey;  the  newsboys  were 

crying  the  latest  results  of  the  elections,  and 
some,   more  enterprising  than   the   rest,   were 

driving  small  carts,  from  which  they  distributed 

their  wares. 

But  the  great  majority  of  the  citizens  were 
abroad  to  see  and  hear  what  was  going  on  in 
the  streets  and  squares;  to  breathe  that  excit- 
ing atmosphere,  electric  with  coming  events,  of 
which  one  always  feels  the  influence  at  times 
like  these. 

The  great  open  space  of  Union  Square  was 
ablaze  with  electric  lamps,  glaring  down  with  a 
harsh  white  luster  upon  the  dark  shifting  masses 
below,  and  casting  hard  black  shadows  upon 
the  pavement.  On  the  southern  side  a  broad 
platform  had  been  erected  and  draped  with 
flags ;  and  upon  it  were  collected  a  group  of 
well-dressed  men,  with  shining  hats  and  black 
coats,  one  or  another  of  whom,  from  time  to 
time,  would  step  forward  and  address  the  vast 
audience  in  a  speech. 


1 1 6  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

Nothing  of  these  harangues  was  audible 
beyond  a  short  distance ;  but  the  cheering 
and  enthusiasm  of  those  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  speakers  was  communicated  to 
those  further  off,  so  that  a  continuous,  irregular 
tumult  of  shouts  and  cries  was  always  rolling 
to  and  fro  over  the  expanse.  The  intention 
was  accepted  for  the  word,  and  he  was  always 
the  most  eloquent  man  who  gesticulated  most 
and  seemed  most  thoroughly  carried  away  by 
his  own  unheard  appeals. 

Ever  and  anon  a  rocket  or  a  Roman  candle 
would  mount  whizzing  aloft  into  the  empty 
vault  of  darkness  overhead.  There  it  would 
pause  a  moment,  then,  exploding  with  a  crisp 
detonation,  spread  forth  a  shower  of  rainbow 
colored  lights. 

The  next  instant,  the  bright  fires  would  be 
absorbed  into  the  darkness  ;  the  whole  display 
thus  furnishing  an  ironical  symbol  of  the  prob- 
able careers  of  those  eminent  personages  whose 
names  were  just  then  most  frequent  in  men's 
mouths. 

In  the  intervals  of  the  speeches,  also, 
bands  of    music   would  thump  and  crash  out 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  1 1 7 

patriotic  airs, — a  method  of  firing  the  popu- 
lar heart  more  direct  and  intelligible,  per- 
haps, than  were  the  efforts  of  most  of  the 
orators. 

John  Parmelee  had  now  attained  to  a  stage 
of  his  delirium,  immediately  preceding  the 
inevitable  final  collapse,  where  he  vibrated  like 
a  harp-string  to  every  one  of  these  impulses, 
without  comprehending  either  their  origin  or 
their  object.  He  felt  a  confused  desire  to 
throw  himself  into  the  current  of  events,  but 
knew  not  how  to  do  so. 

With  the  cunning  characteristic  of  the  slaves 
of  this  form  of  intemperance,  he  had  for  years 
managed  to  conceal  from  his  friends  and  em- 
ployers the  truth  as  to  his  condition.  But  the 
long  strain,  latterly  so  violently  augmented, 
had  brought  on  a  crisis,  and  he  was  ready  upon 
provocation  to  break  out  into  any  wild,  gro- 
tesque or  extravagant  action. 

It  so  happened  that  the  provocation  was 
now  to  be  applied. 

There  were  in  the  crowd  numerous  small 
knots  or  cliques  of  men  engaged  in  animated 
political  discussions,  and  many  of  the  disput- 


1 1 8  JOHM  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

ants  were   stimulated   by  the    liquor  they  had 

drunk,  at  one  or  another  candidate's  expense, 
to  unusual  loudness  and  recklessness.  They 
were  ripe  for  any  frolic  or  license  that  chance 
might  suggest  to  their  overheated  brains. 

John  Parmelee  got  entangled  in  a  group  of 
these  amateur  debaters,  and  was  addressed  by 
one  of  them,  who  demanded  his  opinion  of  the 
question  at  issue. 

Parmelee  had,  of  course,  no  conception  what 
the  question  at  issue  was ;  but  his  mind  was 
full  of  chaotic  fragments  of  famous  speeches, 
by  all  the  historic  orators,  from  Demosthenes 
down  to  Webster,  which  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed, in  by-gone  days,  to  deliver  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  Tisdale  sociables.  Passages 
from  these  he  now  poured  forth  ;  and  the  fire 
and  earnestness  with  which  he  expressed  him- 
self, so  wrought  upon  his  auditors  that  they 
failed  to  perceive  the  incoherency  and  inapt- 
itude of  what  he  said. 

His  personal  appearance,  moreover,  though 
disheveled  and  distraught,  had  a  singularity 
and  impressiveness  suggestive  of  a  personage 
of  consequence.     It  was  not  the  first  instance, 


JOHN  PARMELEE ' S  CURSE.  1 1 9 

perhaps,  of  a  madman  having  been  mistaken 
for  a  genius  and  a  leader. 

One  of  his  hearers,  who  was  more  drunk,  and 
therefore,  more  influential  than  the  rest,  pro- 
posed that  he  should  be  conducted  to  the  plat- 
form and  allowed  to  develop  his  views  there. 
The  suggestion  was  instantly  seized  upon  by 
the  rest,  and  no  time  was  lost  in  putting  it 
in  execution.  ^ 

A  commotion  followed,  with  outcries,  cheers 
and  laughter ;  there  was  a  confused  strug- 
gling together  of  arms  and  bodies.  Those  in 
the  vicinity,  supposing  that  a  fight  was  going 
on,  pressed  toward  the  spot  from  all  sides, 
and   the  helmets  of   two  or  three   policemen 

were  seen  converging  upon  the  scene  of  con- 
flict. 

Immediately,  however,  there  was  a  new  and 
sustained  pressure  in  the  direction  of  the  plat- 
form ;  and  borne  aloft  on  the  shoulders  of 
four  or  five  stalwart  fellows,  was  seen  the 
figure  of  a  pallid,  excited  man,  with  dark,  dis- 
ordered hair,  and  glittering  blue  eyes. 

None  knew  who  he  was ;  but  every  one 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  be  some 


120  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

eminent  politician — perhaps  even  a  presidential 
candidate — with  an  important  message  to 
communicate.  The  personages  already  on  the 
platform  took  it  for  granted  that  this  irruption 
among  them  was  in  some  way  authorized,  and 
they  greeted  him  with  respect.  Meanwhile, 
the  great  crowd  roared  a  welcome,  and  ten 
thousand  voices  demanded  a  speech. 

Parmelee  stood  before  them  and  gazed 
out  upon  them,  supporting  himself  with  his 
hands  upon  the  railing.  He  did  not  realize 
the  meaning  of  his  position  ;  but  he  felt  the 
great  wave  of  emotion  surging  in  upon  him 
from  that  vast  assemblage,  and  his  wandering 
brain  caught  hold  of  as  wild  a  notion  as  ever 
visited  the  speculations  of  insanity.  He  figured 
to  himself  that  all  these  hosts  of  eager  auditors 
were  gathered  together  out  of  interest  in  his 
private  concerns ;  and  that  they  awaited  in 
breathless  suspense  the  recital  of  his  misfor- 
tunes and  his  hopes.  He  resolved,  therefore, 
to  take  them  into  his  confidence ;  and  it  was 
from  this  absurd  and  pathetic  point  of  view 
that  he  proceeded  to  address  them. 

*'  Fellow-citizens,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  which. 


JOHN  PARMELEK  S  CURSE,  1 2 1 

though  strained  and  broken,  still  retained  some- 
thing of  its  old  resonance  and  melody.  *' I 
have  suffered — we  all  have  suffered — and,  for 
many  years,  the  night  has  seemed  to  hold  no 
promise  of  a  dawn.  But  I  see  better  days 
ahead — happier  days  !  The  worst  is  over  ;  the 
curse  is  passing  away!  " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  burst  of  ap- 
plause from  the  multitude,  who  understood  in 
this  exordium  a  figurative  reference  to  the 
prolonged  domination  of  a  certain  political 
party,  and  the  probability  of  its  being  now 
about  to  give  way  to  a  new  administration. 
The  orator  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  silence 
came  again. 

''They  told  me  she  was  dead,"  he  went  on, 
"and  that  I  should  see  her  no  more.  But  I 
never  doubted  that  she  lives  still,  and  that  I 
should  find  her.  I  have  followed  her  day  and 
night ;  I  know  what  she  has  suffered,  for  I 
have  had  the  same  suffering.  But  she  is 
near — I  know  it  ,•  and  I  shall  meet  her 
soon  I '' 

"What  is  he  giving  us?"  demanded  one  of 
the  dignitaries   on   the   platform  of    another. 


1 2  2  JOHN  PARMELEE ' S  CURSE. 

'*It  strikes  me  there's   more   sentiment    than 

politics  in  this  speech.     Wlio  is  he,  anyway?" 
*' I  give  it  up!"    the  other    repHed.     *'Ask 
me  an  easier  one." 

''  What  a  day  of  joy  that  will  be !  "  cried 
the  speaker,  throwing  out  his  arms.  **  We 
shall  all  three  be  together;  there  will  be  no 
more  parting,  no  more  breaking  hearts ;  no 
more  mystery  and  misery !  We  shall  be  hap- 
pier even  than  in  our  first  days,  for  we  shall 
have  known  what  misfortune  means;  and  the 
song  that  she  and  I  used  to  sing  together — 
there  will  be  a  new  music  in  it !  "  And  he 
began  to  sing  : — 

She  was  warmer  than  the  sunlight! 
She  was  sweeter  than  the  blossom 
Of  the  rose  that  lives  in  June  !  , 

"  I  am  thine  and  thou  art  mine  " 
Was  our  murmur  in  the  twilight! 
She  was  lovelier  than — 

The  crowd,  up  to  this  point,  had  kept 
silent ;  those  at  a  distance  in  order  to  catch 
what  was  said,  and  those  near  by  from  doubt 
what  was  meant.  But  the  love  ditty  broke  the 
spell.     There  was  an    uproar  such   as  had  not 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  1 23 

been  heard  that  evening.  Half  in  resentment, 
half  in  derision,  the  shouting  masses  swayed  to 
and  fro,  and,  in  another  moment,  might  have 
stormed  the  platform  and  brought  disaster  to 
all  upon  it. 

But  the  dignitaries  recognized  their  peril,  and 
lost  no  time  in  indicating  their  innocence  by 
ridding  themselves  of  the  offender. 

A  couple  of  them  seized  him  by  the  arms 
and  dragged  him  to  the  head  of  the  flight  of 
steps  descending  from  it.  Here  a  brief  strug- 
gle took  place,  ending  in  the  unknown  senti- 
mentalist being  thrust  over  the  edge  of  the 
scaffolding  and  falling  on  the  heads  and  shoul- 
ders of  the  dense  mass  below. 

His  fall  was  somewhat  broken  thereby  ;  and 
the  catastrophe  was  hailed  with  yells  of  laugh- 
ter. Meanwhile,  poor  John  Parmelee,  bruised 
and  half  stunned,  was  rapidly  hustled  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and  there  left  to  take 
care  of  himself. 


XIII. 

WHEN  Black  Hal  and  his  friends  met,  after 
their  tramp  across  country,  on  the  early- 
morning  train  to  New  York,  they  were  none  of 
them  in  a  particularly  good  humor.  They 
were  tired,  hungry,  and  sleepy  ;  and  they  had 
nothing  but  their  labor  for  their  pains.  More- 
over, they  had  met  with  a  number  of  petty 
misfortunes,  more  irritating,  if  anything,  than 
the  great  ones.  Dick,  in  getting  over  a  wire- 
barbed  fence  in  the  dark,  had  torn  his  tight 
pantaloons  from  the  waist-band  to  the  knee — a 
most  unsightly  gash,  which  there  were  neither 
pins  nor  needle  and  thread  at  hand  to  heal. 
Mike  had  strayed  into  a  swamp,  which  had  not 
let  go  of  him  until  after  drawing  one  of  his 
boots  off  his  leg  ;  after  which  he  had  trod  with 
his  unprotected  foot  on  a  fragment  of  a  soda- 
water  bottle,  and  cut  himself  to  the  bone. 
Harold,  for  his  part,  had  got  on  without  a  mis- 
hap until  the  very  moment  when  he  was  mount- 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE,  1 25 

ing  the  steps  of  the  railway  car.  In  the  act  of 
springing  upward  he  had  snapped  his  silver-^ 
headed  cane  in  two,  and  the  jolt  this  had  given 
him  had  caused  his  silk  hat  to  fall  off.  So  all 
three  were  the  worse  for  wear,  when  they  met 
together  in  the  smoking-car. 

In  order  to  avoid  suspicion,  they  at  first 
behaved  as  if  they  were  strangers  to  one 
another  ;  but  finally  Dick  produced  a  pack  of 
cards,  and  requested  the  others  to  join  him  in 
a  game  of  cut-throat  euchre.  This  harmless 
subterfuge  served  to  give  them  an  opportunity 
of  relieving  their  minds. 

"  This  is  a  sweet  boon,  this  is  !  "  said  Dick, 
bitterly.  '*  I  might  have  afforded  to  lose  the 
pants,  if  I'd  had  any  thin'  to  stick  in  the 
pockets.  The  first  cop  wot  sees  me  on  the 
streets  will  run  me  in  for  indecent  exposure  !  I 
never  did  go  in  for  these  out  o'  town  jobs,  any- 
how !  " 

"  We've  all  of  us  put  one  foot  in  it,"  remarked 
Harold,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders;  "espec- 
ially Mike  here,"  he  added,  with  an  ironical 
smile  at  the  taciturn  Irishman. 

"  Faith,  if  iver  oi  come  across  the  white-liv- 


126  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

ered  villain  as  was  beforehand  wid*  us  at  the 
safe,  oi'll  dhrink  his  dhirty  blood  ! "  growled 
the  latter  between  his  teeth. 

"  I  only  wish  I  were  certain  who  he  is,"  said 
Harold.  "You  might  keep  his  blood,  if  I  could 
get  my  hands  on  his  boodle  !  I  don't  see  my 
way  clear  through  this  confounded  business  yet." 

*'  Who  he  is  be  blowed !  "  retorted  Dick. 
"Where  he  is  is  wot  I'm  after!  " 

"  'Tis  the  chap  what  kept  the  bank — you 
knows  him  better  than  we  does  !  "  Mike  said 
to  Harold  in  a  surly  tone,  as  he  stuffed  some 
tobacco  into  his  short  black  pipe,  and  lighted  it. 

*'  It  certainly  looked  like  it,"  Harold  replied  ; 
"  but  though  there's  no  love  lost  between  my 
brother-in-law  and  me,  I  must  say  I  have  never 
given  him  credit  for  so  neat  a  stroke  of  busi- 
ness as  this.  He's  been  in  that  bank  all  his 
life-time ;  and  if  he  was  ever  going  to  go 
through  it,  why  should  he  have  hit  upon  the 
very  same  evening  that  we  had  laid  our  pipe 
for?     Such  coincidences  don't   often  happen." 

*'  Had  the  safe  been  cracked  before  you  got 
to  it?"  Dick  inquired,  shuffling  the  cards. 

"  If  it  had,  it  was  done  with  a  key,  and  no 


JOHN  PA  R MELEE '  S  CURSE,  1 2  7 

force  used  ;  the  bolt  was  shut  and  the  lock  was 
sound  ;  but  the  safe  was  empty  all  the  same,  and 
my  brother-in-law  was  not  at  home,  asl  told  you." 

"  Some  blamed  fool  has  been  an'  squealed  on 
us — that's  what  it  is!  "  Dick  affirmed,  scowling. 

"  That's  all  nonsense  !  Who  was  there  to 
squeal?  The  thing  has  never  been  spoken  of 
except  when  we  three  were  together,  and  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  nobody  could  have 
overheard  us." 

"Then  why  wasn't  the  stuff  there?  I  ask  yer 
that,"  returned  Dick,  angrily. 

"  I  know  no  more  than  you  do  about  that. 
But  suppose,  if  you  like,  that  my  brother-in-law 
did  find  out  in  some  way  that  we  were  coming, 
why  should  that  put  him  up  to  doing  the  trick 
before  us  ?  Why  shouldn't  he  have  given  the 
tip  to  the  bank  directors,  and  bagged  the  whole 
gang  of  us?  He  must  have  known  that  if  he 
collared  the  cash  and  cleared  out,  suspicion 
would  fall  on  him,  and  they  would  be  after  him 
hot-foot.  But  if  they  nabbed  us  he  would  get 
all  the  credit,  and  probably  a  snug  bonus  by 
way  of  testimonial  into  the  bargain.  No,  I 
don't  see  it  in  that  way." 


128  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

<'  We've  been  beat  anyhow — I  see  that  plain 
enough  !  "  muttered  Dick.  "■  Mebbe  they  just 
took  the  money  out  thcirselves  so  as  to  fool 
us,"  he  presently  added. 

Harold  shook  his  head.  ''If  they  knew 
enough  to  fool  us,  they'd  have  known  enough 
to  capture  us,  too,"  said  he.  "  We're  off  the 
track,  I  tell  you.  It's  a  puzzle  whichever  way 
you  look  at  it.  All  we  know  for  certain  is  that 
the  safe  was  empty.  The  cashier  may  have 
done  it,  though  I  don't  think  so.  The  officers 
of  the  bank  may  have  done  it  in  the  ordinary 
way  of  business,  though  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  before.  Or  some  third  party  may  have 
done  it  without  either  the  bank  or  we  knowing 
any  thing  about  it  ;  but  that's  the  least  likely 
of  all ;  and  besides,  how  happened  it  that  John 
and  his  daughter  were  not  at  home  ?  Well, 
perhaps  we'll  find  out  more  when  the  thing 
gets  into  the  papers.  Meanwhile,  I'm  going  to 
stretch  out  and  take  a  bit  of  a  nap." 

So  saying,  the  captain  of  the  burglars  turned 
over  a  seat,  and  established  himself  in  a  diagonal 
attitude,  with  his  head  in  one  corner  and  his 
feet  in  the  corner  opposite.     Dick  and  Mike, 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  129 

after  grumbling  together  for  a  while,  followed 

his  example.     The  train  sped  along   through 

the  night,  and    toward  morning   it    deposited 

them  in  New  York  about  four  hours  later  than 
the  time  at  which  Sophie  had  arrived  on  her 

lonely  quest  for  her  father. 

This  was  Thursday,  and  the  reporter's  account 
of  last  night's  proceedirgs  had  not  yet  got  into 
his  paper.  Harold  got  into  a  cab  and  was 
driven  to  a  hat  store,  where  he  replaced  his  lost 
head-gear  ;  the  two  other  men  proceeded  down 
town  on  a  Third  Avenue  horse-car.  Harold, 
with  the  solicitude  for  his  physical  condition 
which  was  characteristic  of  him,  took  a  bath, 
and  then  rolled  himself  up  on  the  sofa  in  his 
room  and  went  to  sleep.  It  was  late  in  the 
afternoon  when  he  awoke,  feeling  refreshed  and 
with  a  good  appetite.  He  had  about  twenty 
dollars  in  his  pocket.  He  went  to  a  good 
restaurant  and  ordered  the  best  dinner  on  the 
menu,  with  a  pint  of  light  claret  to  wash  it 
down.  After  sitting  a  while,  and  glancing 
over  the  evening  paper,  he  left  the  restau- 
rant and  strolled  out  on  Broadway  to  take  the 
evening  air,  and  to  think  over  his  present  situa- 


ISO  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

tion  in  a  deliberate  and  unimpassioned  man- 
ner. 

He  was  about  thirty-five  years  old,  and  in 
the  prime  of  his  mental  and  bodily  powers. 
He  had  had  a  wide  experience  of  men  and 
affairs,  and,  with  industry  and  persistence,  he 
might  succeed  in  any  avenue  of  employment. 
Many  men  had  started  with  much  less  efficient 
capacity  than  his,  and  had  risen  to  honor  and 
power.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few  years. 
Why  should  he  not  try  it? 

On  the  other  hand,  should  he  continue  his 
present  mode  of  life,  he  was  certain  sooner  or 
later  to  end  in  disgrace  and  ruin.  In  quiet 
moments  he  admitted  this:  society  always  pre- 
vails against  its  enemies  in  the  long  run.  He 
would  be  caught,  tried,  convicted,  and  that 
would  be  the  end.  What,  then,  was  the  use  of 
mortgaging  all  the  future  part  of  his  life  for  the 
sake  of  the  few  intervening  years — or  it  might 

be  months — of  perilous  and  problematical 
enjoyment?  Moreover,  at  the  best,  the  enjoy- 
ment was  only  momentary,  while  the  peril  was 
constant.  And  then,  how  sordid  the  con- 
ditions were !     Were  Dick  and  Mike  the  sort 


JOHN  P ARM E LEE ' S  CURSE.  1 3 1 

of  companions  that  a  man  of  education  and 
ancestry  like  himself  should  be  compelled  to 
fraternize  with  ?  In  half  a  dozen  years  at 
furthest,  if  he  directed  his  course  aright,  he 
might  be  associating  with  the  best  people  and 
the  most  enlightened  minds  in  America.  Why 
not  take  that  course  now? 

"  It  is  all  very  easy  to  talk,"  said  Harold  to 
himself  at  this  point,  "'  and  the  logic  is  all 
correct  enough.  But  when  it  comes  to  trying 
it  on  practically  it's  different.  Suppose  I  agree 
to  throw  over  all  this  crooked  business,  how 
am  I  to  begin  on  the  new  tack  ?  I  have  fifteen 
dollars  in  my  pocket  at  this  moment.  If  I  set 
to  work,  and  had  ordinary  luck,  I  might  find 
employment,  say,  in  a  month.  Well,  and  what 
would  I  be  living  on  in  the  meanwhile  ?  And 
then,  suppose  I  shouldn't  find  it  in  two  months 
or  in  six !  But  if  the  Tisdale  Bank  had  been  all 
right,  I  should  have  made  may  be  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  ten  minutes  :  and  to-morrow 
I  may  get  on  to  something  quite  as  good. 

He  had  by  this  time  arrived  at  the  junction 
of  Broadway  and  Fifth  Avenue ;  and  as  he 
paused  on  the   corner,    awaiting  a  chance  to 


132  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

cross  between  the  procession  of  carriages,  he 
felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking 
round,  saw  a  man  whom  he  had  known  some 
years  before,  but  whom  he  had  latterly  lost 
sight  of.  He  was  a  person  of  good  connections 
and  prospects,  and  his  name  was  Sherman. 

"  Halloo,  old  fellow,"  Sherman  said,  "  I  knew 
it  was  you  by  the  way  you  walked  !  How  are 
you?  Where  are  you  stopping?  How  does 
the  world  use  you  ?  I've  been  down  in  Mexico 
for  the  last  three  years — only  got  back  a  month 
ago.     What  are  you  doing  nowadays?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  particular,"  replied  Harold, 
nonchalantly:  I  was  just  wondering  what  I 
should  do." 

*'  The  same  old  sixpence  as  ever,  I  see  ! " 
rejoined  Sherman,  with  a  laugh.  "  You  never 
were  much  of  a  glutton  for  work.  But  I  always 
said,  and  I  believe  it  still,  that  if  you  were  once 
to  take  hold  in  earnest,  there's  nobody  could 
get  ahead  of  you  !  You've  got  brains,  and 
you're  a  manager.  I  wish  I  had  you  with  me 
down  in  Mexico.  There's  millions  down  there 
for  the  right  sort  of  men.  I'm  off  again  next 
week.     It's  hard  work,  but  it's  worth    it !     I 


JOHN  PA R MELEE ' S  CURSE,  i ^^^^ 

suppose  you've  got  money  enough — you  always 
look  as  if  you  had  :  but  if  you  want  to  lay  up 
a  big  fortune  in  a  few  years  chip  in  with  me, 
and  I'll  show  you  how  to  do  it!  Look  here, 
have  you  any  engagement  this  evening  ?  Then 
come  up  to  my  room  and  smoke  a  cigar,  and 
we'll  have  a  talk  about  it." 

Harold  followed  his  friend  to  his  apartment 
in  one  of  the  neighboring  hotels.  There  were 
a  couple  of  rooms,  sumptuously  furnished,  and 
full  of  objects  that  showed  the  habit  of  luxur- 
ious comfort.  He  sat  down  in  one  of  the  com- 
fortable arm-chairs,  and  accepted  a  cigar  from 
the  box  which  Sherman  tendered  to  him.  The 
cigar  was  of  the  best  brand.  On  a  small  table 
were  cut-glass  decanters  and  glasses.  In  the 
window  was  a  secretary,  with  a  green-baize 
writing  desk,  and  a  score  of  pigeon-holes  ;  it  was 
littered  with  papers  and  writing  materials,  and 
Harold  especially  noted  a  thick  check-book, 
about  one  third  used.  There  were  also  a  little 
sheaf  of  bank  notes,  and  heaped  up  on  them  a 
handful  of  gold  eagles  and  double-eagles.  An 
open  piano  stood  in  one  corner.  On  the  center- 
table  was  a  large  map  of  Mexico,  partly  un- 


134  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

folded.  Photographs  of  Mexican  buildings  and 
scenery  were  disposed  here  and  there.  Books, 
mostly,  it  seemed,  of  a  statistical  nature,  were 
piled  up  on  the  floor  beside  the  secretary.  The 
door  into  the  bed-room  stood  open,  and  through 
it  were  visible  a  silk-lined  velvet  smoking-jacket 
thrown  over  a  chair,  a  pair  of  morocco  slippers 
with  peaked  turn-up  toes,  and  a  dressing  table 
with  a  plate-glass  mirror  and  brushes  with  backs 
of  carved  ivory.  Over  all  was  an  atmosphere 
of  good  breeding,  prosperity  and  business 
energy. 

**You  see,"  said  Sherman,  throwing  himself 
down  in  a  chair  and  rubbing  one  hand  through 
his  short  brown  beard,  while  he  smiled  pleasant- 
ly, "  I'm  all  upside  down  here  ;  but  I'm  always 
that  way,  and  the  only  redeeming  feature  is, 
that  I  know  my  way  through  my  own  disorder. 
But  my  affairs  are  getting  too  many  for  me  and 
I  need  somebody  to  take  hold  and  help.  An 
ordinary  secretary  won't  do ;  I  want  one  of 
character  and  judgment,  with  capacities  as  good 
or  better  than  my  own  ;  a  fellow  that  I  can 
associate  with  confidentially — a  friend.  I  have 
been  wishing  for  the  last  three  or  four  days  that 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  13^ 

I  could  find  such  a  fellow  ;  and  upon  my  word, 
Blackmer,  I  feel  inclined  to  look  upon  you  as  a 
sort  of  Providential  answer  to  my  prayer.  You 
know  me ;  you  know  the  sort  of  man  I  used  to 
be.  I  used  to  knock  about  with  the  boys,  and 
drive  a  fast  horse,  and  dine  at  Delmonico's, 
and  go  to  Niblo's  and  the  Casino,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  I  thought  as  long  as  I  had 
money  enough,  I  didn't  want  any  thing  else. 
But  one  day  I  struck  a  streak  of  bad 
luck,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew,  I  was  left 
with  hardly  five  thousand  dollars  to  my  name. 
That  was  three  and  a  half  years  ago.  I  had  a 
week  or  so  of  the  worst  kind  of  blues.  My 
first  idea  was  to  borrow  money  of  somebody — 
nobody  knew  then  how  hard  I  was  hit — and 
try  to  pull  up  again  by  betting  and  speculating 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  There  were  plenty  of 
fellows  would  have  lent  me  any  am.ount.  But 
then  I  thought  that  would  be  rather  a  shabby 
game  to  play,  and  I  finally  gave  it  up.  Then  I 
had  a  scheme  to  buy  government  land  out  West 
and  start  a  farm  and  grow  up  with  the  country. 
But  I  didn't  know  the  first  thing  about  farming, 
and  I  would  never  be  a  good  hand  at  sitting 


i3^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

down  quietly  and  waiting  for  the  seasons  to 
come  and  behave  themselves  ;  I  want  to  be  on 
the  go  all  the  time.  However,  I  might  have 
come  to  that  in  time,  if  I  had'nt  fallen  in  with 
a  man  who  began  to  talk  Mexico  to  me,  the 
same  way  I'm  talking  it  to  you  now.  He 
showed  me  what  there  was  to  be  done  there, 
and  asked  me  if  I  had  the  grit  to  go  in.  He 
said,  now  was  the  time,  because,  in  a  dozen 
years  from  now,  when  the  right  man  got 
hold  of  the  government  down  there,  there 
would  be  a  rush  for  the  place,  and  there 
wouldn't  be  enough  to  go  round.  Well,  I  didn't 
take  much  to  the  idea ;  it  seemed  an  outlandish 
country  to  bury  one's  self  in  ;  and  I  didn't 
know  much  more  about  mining  and  engineer- 
ing than  I  did  about  farming.  Still,  I  was  cer- 
tain of  novelty  and  occupation,  and  it  could 
do  no  harm  to  try  it ;  and  to  make  along  story 
short,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  in.  And  by 
George,  it  was  the  luckiest  decision,  from  every 
point  of  view,  that  ever  I  made  in  my  life!  " 

"You   found   it  paid,  did  you  ?"  said  Harold, 
who  had  been  listening  with  attention. 

"It  paid,    pecuniarily     and     otherwise.     As 


JOHN'  PARMELEE 'S  CURSE.  i37 

for  the  money,  you  have  no  idea — few  people 
have — of  the  wealth  that  is  to  be  got  out  of  that 
country.  You  can  pick  up  an  ample  income 
on  the  surface  of  the  ground  ;  but  if  you  bring 
science  and  machinery  to  bear,  you  can  do  any 
thing!  But  that  isn't  all  ;  it's  a  most  delight- 
ful place  to  be  in.  It's  as  new  as  our  prairies, 
and  yet  as  old  as  Europe  or  India.  You  feel 
like  a  Columbus,  and  like  Macaulay's  New 
Zealander,  at  the  same  time.  And  it  keeps  a 
man  alive ;  he  lives  all  through  his  brain  and 
his  body.  You  remember  what  a  pale,  languid, 
flabby-muscled  creature  I  was  four  years  ago. 
Look  at  me  now!  I've  got  the  complexion  of 
a  sailor  and  the  brawn  of  an  athlete,  and  I'm  in 
the  best  of  spirits  and  condition  from  one  year's 
end  to  another.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  the 
experience  for  all  I'm  worth  twice  over  !  " 

**  How  long  do  you  intend  to  keep  it  up — 
this  Mexican  business?"     Harold  inquired. 

*'  That's  a  point  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you 
about.  I've  laid  the  foundations,  and  set  everv 
thing  a-going;  all  that  has  to  be  done  now,  is 
to  keep  it  up.  But  in  order  to  do  that  properly, 
it  is  necessary  that    I  should    begin  to  spend 


13^  JOHN  PARMELEE  '5-  CURSE. 

most  of  my  time  here — at  this  end  of  the  line — 
while  some  one  on  whom  I  can  depend  attends 
to  things  down  there.  So  my  proposition 
(assuming  that  you  think  you  would  care  to 
enter  into  the  matter  at  all)  is  this:  I  will  take 
you  with  me  to  Mexico  next  week,  and  we'll 
spend  six  months  together,  and  I'll  teach  you 
whatever  there  is  to  be  taught — no  fear  but 
you'll  learn  it  fast  enough — faster  than  I  did. 
Then  I'll  leave  you  there,  to  carry  on  our  opera- 
tions, while  I  come  back  to  New  York.  In  three 
years  from  now,  you  and  I  will  have  the  inside 
track  of  every  thing  there  is  going  in  the  way  of 
commerce  between  this  country  and  Mexico ; 
and  if  you  should  desire  to  settle  down  there, 
I  dare  say  you  might  succeed  Porfirio  Diaz  one 
of  these  days,  as  President  of  the  Republic. 


XIV. 

HAROLD  maintained  a  composed  demeanor 
all  this  while,  but,  in  truth,  he  was  not  a 
little  moved  by  this  unexpected  adventure.  It 
fell  out  so  opportunely  with  his  immediate  want, 
as  to  seem  something  more  than  a  coincidence. 
It  was  evident  that  Sherman  had  heard  noth- 
ing of  the  darker  passages  of  his  career ;  he 
supposed  him  to  be  merely  an  idle  man  about 
town,  with  no  object  in  life,  but  with  abilities 
to  fit  him  for  an  active  and  eminent  existence. 
And  the  course  he  proposed  could  not  have 
been  better  suited  to  the  requirements  of  a 
man  in  Harold's  position.  For,  were  he  to  at- 
tempt to  begin  a  new  life  in  New  York,  he 
would  be  hampered  and  crippled  by  the  pres- 
ence of  many  members  of  the  criminal  classes, 
who  knew  his  history ;  not  to  mention  the  po- 
lice, who  had  his  photograph  and  biography  in 
their  books.  He  would  have  to  live  down  his 
past,  before  he  could  enter  upon  his  future ; 


140  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

and  that  would  be  a  matter  of  years,  and  per- 
haps might  fail  altogether.  But  this  plan  at 
once  freed  him  from  the  shadows  of  what  had 
gone  before,  and  admitted  him  at  a  single  step 
to  the  sunshine  and  liberty  of  a  better  life. 
The  prospects  of  success  were  as  brilliant  and 
almost  as  prompt  as  the  best  he  could  hope  for 
in  his  present  course  ;  and  there  was  none  of 
the  attendant  drawback  of  danger,  disgrace 
and  punishment.  It  seemed  to  Harold  that  if 
he  had  been  asked  to  choose  the  destiny  that 
would,  on  the  whole,  be  most  agreeable  to  his 
talents  and  aspirations,  he  would  have  selected 
precisely  that  which  was  now  being  offered  to 
him. 

"The  scheme  certainly  doesn't  look  bad,  as 
you  state  it,"  he  remarked  coolly.  "Of  course, 
however,  something  would  depend,  so  far  as 
I'm  concerned,  on  the  kind  of  arrangements 
you  would  want  to  make  from  the  financial 
point  of  view.  I'm  not  a  millionaire,  exactly, 
and  I  couldn'd  affort  to  risk  the  little  I 
have " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  you  to  bother  yourself 
^bout   that — of   course  not ! "  Sherman  inter- 


JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  CURSE,  1 4 1 

rupted.  "■  If  you  were  a  stranger,  I  might  ask 
for  a  guarantee  of  some  kind,  just  as  a  matter 
of  form  ;  but  as  it  is,  the  favor  would  be  quite  as 
much  on  your  side  as  on  mine,  and  I  should  re- 
quire nothing  but  your  consent  to  co-operate 
with  me.  If  you  want  to  put  any  capital  into 
the  business,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so,  and 
you  will  receive  whatever  profits  may  accrue 
from  it.  But  my  idea  was,  to  pay  you  a  salary, 
— say,  to  begin  with,  a  couple  of  hundred  dol- 
lars a  week, — and  then,  later  on,  when  you  got 
the  hang  of  the  work,  and  saw  how  the  land 
lay,  you  could  come  in  for  a  share  of  the  whole 
thing.  So,  if  you  didn't  like  it  after  all,  you 
could  step  out,  and  be  just  where  you  were 
when  you  started.  Well,  how  does  it  strike 
you.'' 

*'  Well,  it  seems  to  me  I  should  like  it.  I 
think  it  will  just  about  suit  me,"  replied  Har- 
old, as  if  weighing  his  words.  ''  I'm  fond  of  a 
city  life,  of  course, — the  comforts  and  all  that  ; 
it's  what  I'm  most  used  to.  But  I've  been  out 
West,  and  knocked  around  a  little  here  and 
there,  and  I  know  enough  about  that  sort  of 
thing  to  believe  that  I  wouldn't  die  of  a  broken 


142  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

heart  even  in  Mexico.  Seriously,  I'm  not  half 
sorry  of  an  opportunity  to  strike  out  in  a  new 
line,  and  find  out  whether  I've  got  any  thing  in 
me, — next  week,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes;  Monday  or  Tuesday.  Though,  if 
that's  too  short  notice  for  you,  I  might — " 

**  No  ;  oh,  no ;  this  is  Thursday  ;  I  guess  I 
can  cut  myself  loose  from  New  York  in  three 
days,  if  I  can  do  it  at  all.  Yes,  and  the  sooner 
the  better.     Monday  be  it  !  " 

*'Good!  it's  a  go!"  exclaimed  Sherman, 
throwing  away  the  stump  of  his  cigar,  and  ris- 
ing with  animation.  "  Stay  and  dine  with  me 
this  evening,  and  we'll  go  over  the  ground 
thoroughly  together,  so  that  you  may  get  a 
clear  idea  of  what  is  to  be  done.  To-morrow 
you  can  begin  your  preparations." 

They  talked  until  midnight ;  and  when  Har- 
old got  up  to  leave,  the  prospects  of  a  new  life 
seemed  clear  and  certain.  At  parting,  Sher- 
man asked  him  what  would  be  his  address  in 
the  mean  while  ? 

**  Let  me  see  !  "  replied  Harold,  somewhat 
disconcerted, — for  he  was  by  no  means  anxious 
to  have  his  friend  discover  any  thing  about  his 


JOHN  P ARM E LEE ' S  CURSE.  1 43 

present  whereabouts.  ^'  I  am  just  moving  out 
of  my  old  quarters,"  he  went  on,  ''  and  I  was 
thinking  of  visiting  a  friend  out  of  town.  I 
shan't  have  any  fixed  address.  But  I  shall  drop 
in  to  the  hotel  here  to-morrow,  and  if  you  are 
not  in,  you  might  leave  a  line  for  me  with  the 
clerk  ;  at  any  rate,  you  know,  I  shall  be  on  hand 
on  Monday.     So — d  bientot  !  " 

''Good  by,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Sherman, 
grasping  his  hand  heartily  ;  and  they  separated. 

On  his  way  homeward,  Harold  could  not 
help  a  grin  of  amusement  at  the  thought  of 
how  his  friend's  manner  toward  him  would 
have  changed,  had  he  known  more  of  his  true 
character  ;  and  this  led  him  to  the  reflection 
that,  after  all,  the  favor  was  done  not  to  him- 
self, but  to  a  Harold  who  existed  only  in  Sher- 
man's imagination.  It  follows,  that  the  real 
Harold  had  no  reason  to  feel  gratitude  for  it. 
"  I  shall  owe  him  nothing,"  he  told  himself; 
"he  is  just  like  the  rest  of  the  world, — a  snob 
and  a  time-server.  He  thinks  he  will  gain 
something  by  getting  me  to  join  him,  and  so 
he  does  it.  If  he  thought  I  needed  help,  he 
would  see  rne  damned  before  he'd  give  it.     I'rn 


144  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

not  bound  to  feel  under  any  obligations  to  him  ; 
there  are  none.  If  he  were  to  learn,  at  any 
moment,  what  my  past  life  has  really  been,  he 
would  send  me  packing  the  next  day.  Well, 
then,  if  I  ever  find  myself  in  a  position  to 
benefit  myself  at  his  expense,  I  shall  have  a 
perfect  right  to  do  it.  So  long  as  his  interests 
and  mine  are  identical,  well  and  good  ;  but  if 
ever  they  clash,  he  must  go  to  the  wall.  No  use 
having  any  sentiment  about  this  thing.  We're 
each  looking  out  for  ourselves,  and  the  best 
man  wins ! " 

Having  thus  eased  his  mind  of  the  momen- 
tary apprehension,  that  it  was  conceivable  that 
any  one  could  do  a  kindness  to  another  from 
a  merely  disinterested  and  generous  motive.  ^ 
Harold  felt  more  cheerful  than  ever,  and  went 
to  bed  and  to  sleep  with  a  light  heart.  He  was 
still  asleep  when  a  peculiar  knock  on  the  door 
aroused  him  ;  it  apprised  him  that  one  of  his 
confederates  awaited  admission. 

'*  I  shall  have  to  play  these  fellows,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  as  he  arose  and  prepared  to 
admit  the  visitor.  **  If  once  they  should  catch 
an  inkling   of   my  compact    with    Mr,    Frank 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  I45 

Sherman,  good-by  to  Mexico  and  its  mines  and 
millions  for  good  and  all !  " 

He  opened  the  door,  though  not  yet  loosen- 
ing the  chain  which  fastened  it.  But  when  he 
saw  Dick  standing  without,  he  slipped  the  bolt, 
and  suffered  him  to  enter. 

"  What  brings  you  abroad  so  early  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, in  no  very  genial  manner. 

Dick  had  put  on  another  pair  of  trowsers, 
which,  if  not  of  the  latest  fashion,  at  any  rate 
answered  the  purpose  of  covering  his  lean  and 
misshapen  shanks.  For  the  rest,  he  was  as 
shabby  and  ill-favored  as  usual ;  and  Harold,  as 
he  glanced  at  him,  mentally  contrasted  his 
aspect,  and  all  the  depraved  and  underground 
mode  of  life  which  he  symbolized,  with  the 
elegance  and  prosperity  that  characterized 
Sherman  ;  and  he  thanked  fortune  that  he  was 
about  to  cut  loose  from  the  former  and  hence- 
forth enjoy  the  latter. 

But  Dick's  wizened  visage  wore  an  eager  and 
excited  expression,  and  it  was  evident  that 
his  presence  was  not  accidental  nor  aimless. 
He  had  some  communication  of  importance  to 
rnake.     After  Harold  had  closed  the  door  and 


146  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

replaced  the  chain,  Dick  pulled  a  morning 
newspaper  out  of  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to 
his  host  in  silence,  but  with  a  nod  of  the  head 
that  meant  a  great  deal. 

"  Well,  what's  this  for  ?  "  Harold  inquired, 
unfolding  the  paper  and  glancing  over  it  care- 
lessly. 

"  It's  on  the  first  page,"  replied  Dick,  in  a 
voice  husky  with  emotion  ;  **  first  page,  right 
hand  column !  " 

Harold  turned  to  the  place  indicated. 
"  Halloo  !  "  murmured  he,  as  his  eye  caught  the 
heading  of  the  article.  "  Sure  enough  !  "  He 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa-bedstead,  and 
began  to  read  intently.  Dick  stood  watching 
him,  his  hand  wandering  nervously  over  his 
mouth  and  chin.  Three  minutes  passed,  and 
then  Harold  threw  the  paper  aside,  and  looked 
straight  before  him,  his  eyebrows  drawn 
together  in  thought.  He  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten  Dick.  Indeed,  his  mind  was  taking  a 
very  wide  and  rapid  voyage. 

"Say,  are  you  goin' to  sleep  agin?"  Dick 
exclaimed,  at  length,  with  some  impatience. 

Harold  glanced  up  at  him,  and  drew  a  long 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  i47 

breath.  "  Not  till  I've  got  to  the  bottom  of 
this  thing,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause.  *'  If 
John  Parmelee  has  committed  that  burglary, 
and  has  a  head  on  his  shoulders,  and  the  money 
in  his  pocket,  it's  ten  to  one  he  isn't  far  from 
where  we're  sitting  at  this  moment.  That's  a 
little  more  than  human  nature  can  stand.  If 
John  hadn't  put  on  such  virtuous  airs  all  his 
life,  and  pretended  that  butter  wouldn't  melt 
in  his  mouth,  I  might  have  been  willing  to  own 
up  that  he'd  beaten  me,  and  to  let  him  have 
the  benefit  of  it.  But  as  it  is,  I'm  blessed  if  I 
don't  get  after  him,  and  make  him  shell  out  ! 
He  took  an  unfair  advantage  of  us,  and  that's 
why  he  got  ahead.  We  must  get  even  with 
him,  and  not  lose  any  time  about  it  either ! " 

"  Well,  now  you're  talkin',"  said  Dick,  with 
a  mollified  air.  '*  Them's  my  sentiments,  to  a 
dot !  But  how  we're  to  get  our  claws  on  him 
is  what  I  want  to  know.     It  ain't  so  easy." 

"Where's  Mike?"  asked  Harold,  abruptly, 
after  another  pause. 

'*  He  ain't  showed  up  this  mornin'  "  was  the 
reply.  "  He  was  boozin'  last  night,  when  I 
left  him." 


I48  JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

"All  right;  let  him  alone,  then,"  said 
Harold.  "  If  he  doesn't  catch  on  to  the  new 
deal,  I  don't  know  as  we're  obliged  to  put  him 
up  to  it.  That  other  affair  is  past  and  done 
with,  and  this  is  on  another  tack  altogether. 
It  will  be  just  as  easy  to  divide  the  boodle  into 
two  parts  as  into  three  ;  and  it  will  be  so  much 
the  more  for  those  that  divide  it.  Isn't  that 
so  r 

**  That  won't  prevent  Mike  from  cuttin*  up 
rough  when  he  finds  it  out,"  replied  Dick, 
dubiously. 

"  He  needn't  find  it  out  ;  and  if  he  does — 
why,  it  can't  be  helped,  that's  all."  Harold's 
motive  in  thus  excluding  Mike  from  participa- 
tion in  the  expected  windfall  was  two-fold : 
Not  only  would  his  share  be  larger,  but  there 
would  be  one  person  the  less  possessing  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  taken  the  proceeds  of 
the  burglary.  It  was  desirable,  in  any  case,  to 
confine  such  knowledge  to  as  few  people  as 
possible ;  but  especially  so  in  this  instance, 
when  he  contemplated  beginning  a  new  life 
with    Sherman. 

It    will     be     perceived    that     Harold    had 


JOHN  PARMALEE'S  curse.  i49 

no  intention  of  foregoing  the  latter  pro- 
ject. He  calculated  that  he  would  prob- 
ably be  able  to  get  hold  of  John  Parmelee 
before  Monday  morning ;  and  that  the  sum  of 
money  which  he  would  extract  from  him, 
whether  larger  or  smaller,  would  be  so  much 
to  the  good — an  agreeable  nest-egg  for  future 
occasions.  As  to  the  moral  aspect  of  such  a 
transaction,  he  did  not  trouble  himself;  for 
although  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that, 
with  Sherman's  assistance,  honesty  would  be 
the  best  policy,  he  still  considered  himself  free 
to  take  occasional  excursions  in  the  opposite 
direction,  when  the  omens  were  propitious. 

With  respect  to  Mike,  he  was  a  difficult  per- 
son to  manage,  and  though  useful  in  an  emer- 
gency where  personal  strength  and  courage  were 
necessary,  he  was  rather  an  incumbrance  in 
enterprises  which  depended  for  success  on  brains 
and  ingenuity.  As  he  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  it  was  quite  possible  that  he  would 
remain  ignorant  of  the  story  of  John  Parme- 
lee's  exploit  until  Harold  was  on  his  way  to 
Mexico  ;  and  to  what  might  happen  after  that, 
Harold  was,  of  course,  indifferent. 


150  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE:. 

He  and  Dick  now  took  a  hasty  breakfast 
together,  and  arranged  their  plan  of  operations. 
If  Parmelee  were  (as  they  inferred)  an  old 
hand  at  the  business,  he  would  probably  have 
recourse  to  certain  places  well  known  to  the 
thieving  fraternity  of  New  York,  to  dispose 
of  such  part  of  his  plunder  as  was  not  already 
in  the  form  of  cash.  Upon  such  places,  there- 
fore, they  determined  to  keep  a  watch  ;  and 
meanwhile  Harold,  to  whom  alone  Parmelee 
was  known  by  sight,  would  be  on  the  lookout 
for  a  chance  meeting  in  the  streets.  Upon 
this  basis  of  procedure  they  set  forth. 

But  although  they  pursued  their  game  all 
day  long,  they  did  not  succeed  in  so  much  as 
getting  upon  the  scent  of  it.  None  of  the 
"  fences  "  had  seen  any  signs  of  the  person  they 
wanted,  and  none  of  the  customary  resorts  of 
social  vermin  contained  him.  Harold  began 
to  fear  that  either  he  had  transacted  his  affairs 
the  previous  day,  before  the  fact  of  the  rob- 
bery was  published ;  or  else  that  he  had 
betaken  himself  elsewhere  than  to  New  York. 
The  apprehension  was  strengthened  by  the 
rumor  in  the  evening  papers  that  Parmelee  had 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  1 5 1 

escaped  to  Canada.  The  day  seemed  destined 
to  turn  out  an  unlucky  one  ;  and  to  add  to  his 
annoyance,  Harold  had  been  unable  to  find 
time  to  call  at  the  hotel  to  see  Sherman,  or  to 
get  any  message  that  might  have  been  left  for 
him. 

Toward  evening,  in  company  with  Dick,  he 
found  himself  in  Union  Square,  where,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  great  political  meeting  was 
being  held.  He  was  just  considering  how  he 
might  best  get  rid  of  Dick,  when  they  were 
encountered  by  Mike,  whom  they  had  hitherto 
successfully  avoided.  He  accosted  them,  and 
while  they  were  talking  together,  their  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  turmoil  in  the  throng  at 
a  little  distance  from  them,  and  which  seemed 
to  surge  in  the  direction  of  the  platform. 


XV. 

IT  so  happened  that  among  the  many  thou- 
sands that  witnessed  John  Parmelee's  ejec- 
tion from  the  platform,  there  were  two  who  knew 
and  recognized  him.  One  of  them  was  a  tall, 
handsome,  fashionably  dressed  fellow,  with  a 
silk  hat  on  his  head  and  a  silver-headed  cane  in 
his  hand.  Two  other  men  were  near  him — a 
broad  shouldered,  band}^  legged  ruffian,  with  a 
cloth  cap  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  a  flimsy, 
shabby  scamp,  with  meager  jaws  and  a  wide, 
hungry  mouth. 

When  John  was  first  uplifted  into  his  short- 
lived distinction,  these  three  companions  were 
pushing  their  way  about  in  the  throng,  with  no 
particular  object  in  view.  But  the  moment 
the  tall  man  caught  sight  of  the  face  of  the 
orator,  he  started  and  touched  one  of  his  fol- 
lowers on  the  arm. 

**  Look  there  !  "  he  exclaimed.  ''  D — n  me,  if 
there  isn't  our  man  now!  " 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  i53 

"What's  that?"  returned  Dick,  peering 
about. 

"  My  precious  brother-in-law,  I  tell  you ! 
There,  on  the  platform  !  What  the  devil  can 
be  the  meaning  of  it?  He  must  be  drunk  or 
crazy,  one  of  the  two  !  " 

"Been  spreeing  it  with  the  Tisdale  boodle,  I 
expect,"  Dick  remarked. 

"  But  the  fellow's  mad,  to  show  up  that  way, 
when  the  cops  are  after  him  ! " 

"  Phwat  be  yez  jawin'  about?"  demanded 
Mike,  who  was  a  man  of  few  words. 

"  That  comes  of  not  subscribing  to  the  news- 
papers !"  the  other  replied.  "  Do  you  see  that 
chap  up  there  ?  Well,  he's  the  man  who 
cleaned  out  the  Tisdale  safe  ahead  of  us,  and 
got  off  with  the  plunder.  They're  hunting  for 
him  everywhere,  from  Montreal  to  Florida  ;  and 
here  he's  spouting  politics  in  Union  Square ! 
Hanged  if  I  see  his  game  !  " 

"There's  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  one  as 
spots  him  !"  said  Dick,  licking  his  chaps. 

"  Bad  'cess  to  him  !  let's  grab  him  'an  run  him 
in  !  "  proposed   Mike,making  a  step  forward.      • 

"  Hold  on,  you  d d  fool  I  "  exclaimed  the 


IS4  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

tall  man,  catching  him  by  the  arm.  ''Don't 
you  see  we  can  do  fifty  times  better  than  that? 
He  must  have  the  boodle  with  him,  or  know 
where  it  is ;  and  if  we  can  get  hold  of  him  and 
fetch  him  up  to  the  crib,  its  hard  lines  if  we 
don't  squeeze  the  whole  thing  out  of  him. — 
Hullo  !  They're  firing  him  off  the  platform, 
now!  He's  drunk,  for  dead  sure! — 'Honest 
John  '  they  called  him  !  I  always  knew  he  was  a 
screw  and  believed  he  was  a  scamp,  and  now  I 
know  that,  too  !  Come  on,  lads!  Here's  a  new 
deal,  after  all,  and  we  hold  trumps !  " 

While  Harold  Blackmer  and  his  pals  were 
carrying  out  their  scheme,  the  other  person 
who  knew  John  Parmelee  was  trying  to  get  to 
him,  from  very  different  motives. 

She  was  a  little,  sallow-cheeked  girl,  about 
fourteen  years  of  age,  plainly  but  decently 
dressed,  and  carrying  a  black  satchel  in  her 
hand. 

Sophie,  after  leaving  home  in  search  of  her 
father,  had  walked  down  to  the  station,  which 
she  reached  just  as  a  train  came  in.  She  got 
into  it  without  buying  a  ticket  or  asking  where 
it  would  take  her.     When  the  conductor  came 


^' JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  l55 

along,  however,  and  asked  whether  she  were 
bound  to  New  York  she  said  yes,  and  paid  her 
fare  thither,  and  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of 
hours  she  was  set  down  in  the  Grand  Central 
depot. 

She  had  never  been  in  New  York  before  and 
had  no  idea  what  to  do.  But  the  porter  who 
helped  her  out  of  the  car  happened  to  be  a 
married  man,  and  to  have  lately  lost  a  little 
daughter  about  Sophie's  age ;  so  he  took  her 
home  with  him  to  spend  the  night,  satchel  and 
all,  little  suspecting  what  a  fortune  was  thus  in- 
troduced beneath  his  roof. 

Sophie  slept  soundly  till  ten  o'clock  the  next 
morning;  when  she  awoke,  the  porter's  wife 
gave  her  a  breakfast ;  but,  when  the  child  offered 
twenty-five  cents  to  pay  for  her  entertainment, 
the  woman  kissed  her  with  tears  on  her  cheeks, 
gave  the  money  back  to  her,  and  told  her  she 
might  live  there  always  if  she  would.  Sophie 
thanked  her  heartily,  and  promised  if  she  did 
not  find  her  papa  that  day,  to  come  back  again 
in  the  evening. 

"  Sure,  then,  honey,  ye'd  as  well  lave  yerbag 
here  the  while,"   said  the  woman,   as  Sophie 


1 5  6  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

grasped  it  and  prepared  to  depart,  "  'tis  too 
heavy  for  the  Hkes  o'  you  to  be  carryin'  !  " 

""  I  should  like  to,  but  I  musn't,"  Sophie  re- 
plied.    "  I  promised  my  papa  I  would  not." 

''  God  send  ye  good  luck,  then,  darlint !"  said 
the  woman  ;  and  Sophie  marched  off. 

All  that  day  she  walked  about  New  York 
looking  for  her  papa,  and  never  parting  from 
the  heavy  satchel,  which  contained  money 
enough  to  support  her  in  the  lap  of  luxury  for 
a  dozen  years.  But  it  was  a  burden  to  her  in  a 
more  literal  sense  than  a  large  fortune  is  com- 
monly supposed  to  burden  its  possessor.  It 
was  a  heavy-hearted  business,  making  her  way 
through  the  clattering,  roaring  streets,  crowded 
with  faces  that  were  unknown  to  her,  amid 
which  she  sought  in  vain  for  the  one  that  was 
dearer  to  her  than  all  the  world. 

Sometimes  a  brawny  policeman  would  ask 
her  whether  she  had  lost  her  way.  Sometimes 
a  lady  in  a  crape  veil  would  look  compassion- 
ately at  her.  Sometimes  an  idle  boy  would 
screech  suddenly  in  her  ear  to  startle  her.  But, 
for  the  most  part,  she  was  unnoticed.  Mean- 
while, the  money  in  her  pocket  was  reduced  to 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  l57 

less  than  two  dollars;  and  unless  her  search 
were  successful  on  the  morrow  she  bade  fair  to 
to  be  left  penniless  with  her  fifty-seven  thou- 
sand dollars  in  bank-notes  and  securities. 

Many  a  time  her  heart  sank  and  her  lips 
quivered  with  loneliness  and  grief.  After  all, 
it  was  but  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that  the 
father  she  sought  was  within  a  hundred  miles 
of  her.  It  was  a  mere  chance — or  an  instinct 
at  most — that  had  led  her  to  New  York.  But 
she  was  not  old  enough  to  realize  the  odds 
against  her  ;  and  she  was  young  enough  to  be- 
lieve that  God  would  guide  her,  if  He  thought 
best. 

That  night  she  spent  at  the  house  of  her 
friend,  the  porter's  wife;  and  the  next  morning 
she  set  forth  again.  The  day  was  a  repetition 
of  the  former  one.  Toward  evening  she  found 
herself,  almost  tired  out,  in  the  lower  part  of 
Broadway.  But  as  she  approached  Union 
Square  her  flagging  spirits  revived  ;  she  had  a 
feeling  that  her  wanderings  were  near  their 
end. 

The  current  of  the  crowd  was  setting  north- 
ward, and  she  went  with  it  willingly,  sure  that 


158  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

she  was  being  led  aright.  She  arrived  in  the 
square  a  moment  after  her  father  had  made  his 
appearance  on  the  platform,  and  stood,  con- 
spicuous to  all  eyes,  in  the  glare  of  the  electric 
lamps. 

This  strange  spectacle  did  not  surprise  her  ; 
it  seemed  to  be  what  she  had  been  expecting. 
In  the  shout  of  the  multitude  she  heard  the 
mighty  echo  of  the  joy  that  filled  her  own 
heart,  and  her  own  little  voice  mingled  in  the 
stentorian  acclaim :  "  Papa,  papa,  I  am  here ; 
let  me  come  to  you  ! " 

She  tried  to  force  her  way  toward  him,  but 
she  might  as  well  have  striven  to  pass  through 
a  rock.  The  crowd  poured  around  her  and 
over  her,  and  hurried  her  now  this  way,  now 
that;  she  was  jostled  breathless,  helpless ;  she 
would  have  fallen  had  there  been  room  to  fall ; 
and  to  have  been  cast  beneath  those  trampling, 
heedless  feet  would  have  been  instant  death. 

But  through  it  all  she  did  not  cease  to  call 
for*' Papa,  papa!"  nor  did  her  small  fingers 
relinquish  their  hold  upon  the  satchel  which 
contained  the  trust  confided  in  her. 

All   at   once   she   saw   emerging   from    the 


JOHN  PARMELEE ' S  CURSE.  1 5  9 

throng  three  men  supporting  a  fourth,  and 
dragging  him  along  with  him.  It  was  her 
father  ;  but  how  Hfeless  and  ghastly  he  looked  ! 
She  summoned  all  her  strength,  and  called  to 
him  once  more.  She  fancied  he  heard  her  ; 
for  an  instant  his  face  was  turned  toward  her. 

The  next  instant  he  was  swept  out  of  her 
sight,  and  a  chance  blow  on  her  head  from 
some  rude  elbow  dizzied  her  brain.  Darkness 
filled  her  eyes ;  she  felt  herself  falling. 

As  she  dropped  to  the  pavement,  a  police- 
man, who  happened  to  be  in  the  right  place  at 
the  right  time,  saw  her  and  caught  her  up  in 
his  arms.  She  appeared  to  be  stunned,  but 
not  seriously  hurt.  What  was  to  be  done  with 
her? 

His  eye  happened  to  light  upon  a  small  cart, 
driven  by  a  small  boy,  which  was  just  then 
standing  by  the  curb.  It  was  one  of  those 
newsboy's  carts,  already  alluded  to,  chartered 
for  the  purpose  of  selling  the  extra  editions ; 
and  its  owner,  having  sold  out  his  consignment, 
had  paused  on  his  way  home  to  enjoy  the 
spectacle  of  free  institutions  in  active  opera^ 
tion. 


l6o  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

*'  Hi !  sonny,"  said  the  policeman,  laying  the 
still  insensible  form  of  the  little  girl  down  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cart,  ''  take  her  to  the  sta- 
tion round  the  corner  and  give  her  in  charge  to 
the  boss.  He'll  tip  you  a  quarter,  may  be.  Off 
you  go  !  Hold  up  !  Here's  a  bag  belongs  to 
her  I  guess."  And  he  tossed  in,  as  a  careless 
after-thought,  the  fifty-seven  thousand  dollars. 

The  newsboy  contemplated  his  involuntary 
passenger,  as  she  lay  there,  and  took  a  fancy  to 
her.  He  slipped  the  satchel  beneath  her  head, 
to  serve  as  a  pillow ;  whipped  up  his  horse,  and 
drove  away. 

But  instead  of  taking  her  to  the  station- 
house,  he  kept  along  down  Broadway  as  far 
as  Canal  street,  and  then  turned  off  to  the 
right. 


XVI. 

WHEN  Sophie  came  fully  to  herself  again, 
she  was  vaguely  surprised  to  find  her- 
self gazing  at  the  dirty  and  dilapidated  ceiling 
of  a  low  room,  imperfectly  illuminated  by  the 
flickering  light  of  an  ill-smelling  little  lamp. 

She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  looked 
about. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  room  that  could 
properly  be  called  furniture.  She  was  lying  in 
one  corner,  upon  a  mattress  improvised  out  of 
pieces  of  sail  cloth  laid  upon  straw.  Upon  a 
similar  heap  of  bedding,  in  another  corner,  was 
stretched  the  shabbily  attired  figure  of  an 
elderly  woman,  whose  face  was  partly  con- 
cealed beneath  the  folds  of  a  ragged  shawl, 
and  whose  eyes  were  closed. 

A  couple  of  boards  laid  across  two  soap 
boxes  served  for  a  table,  and  a  coil  of  rope 
beside  it  may  have  answered  the  purpose  of  a 
chair.     The  walls  were  destitute  of  paper,  and 


162  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

the  discolored  plaster  had  fallen  off  in  several 
places,  showing  the  laths  underneath.  Alto- 
gether, Sophie  had  never  before  seen  so  un- 
lovely an  apartment  as  this. 

While  she  was  wondering  where  she  was,  and 
how  she  came  there,  the  door  opened  and  a 
boy  about  twelve  years  old  entered. 

He  was  barefooted,  and  his  clothing  was  ele- 
mentary and    ragged.      His    red    hair    thrust 

itself  through  the  hole  in  the  crown  of  his 
cap,  but  his  dirty,  freckled  face  w^as  good- 
humored  and  clever,  and  when  he  met  Sophie's 
eyes  his  mouth  widened  in  a  broad  smile.  He 
carried  in  his  hand  a  bundle  of  something,  done 
up  in  a  bit  of  newspaper. 

''Hello!  how  was  yer?"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
husky  with  the  calling  of  many  newspapers, 
but  cheerful  and  kindly.  *'  I  know'd  as  yer  was 
more  scar't  nor  hurt— and  more  hungry  nor 
scar't,  mebbe  !  Dat's  all  right !  Here — catch 
on  to  a  bite  of  dis,  and  you'll  be  chipperer  nor 
a  sparrer ! " 

So  saying,  he  squatted  down  cross-legged 
beside  her,  and  unfolded  the  contents  of  the 
bundle.      There   was  a    Frankfort   sausage,  a 


JOHN  PA R MELEE '  S  CVRSE,  1 63 

dozen  sea  biscuits,  and  a  piece  of  cheese.  He 
also  produced  a  couple  of  apples  from  his 
trowsers  pockets,  with  the  remark,  ''  Them's 
dessert." 

He  then  took  the  board-and-soap-box  table 
to  pieces,  and  reconstructed  it  in  a  position 
accessible  to  both  Sophie  and  himself.  Upon 
this  he  spread  the  feast,  with  the  newspaper 
for  a  table-cloth.  A  battered  tin  can  half  full 
of  water  represented  the  beverages. 

*'  Dere  we  is!  "  he  exclaimed  ;  '*  fine  ez  Del- 
monico !  Jump  in  an'  gorge  yourself,  little 
gal !  Ef  yer  sees  what  yer  don't  want,  ax  for 
it!" 

*'  Do  you  live  here  ?"  Sophie  inquired. 

"You  bet  I  does,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a 
nod  of  satisfaction.  "  Ain't  this  room  a  daisy  !" 
There  ain't  many  of  der  boys  has  got  der  match 
of  it,  and  don't  yer  forgit  it !  I'se  had  hard 
times  myself  but  I  makes  money  now,  I  does." 

**  How  do  you  make  money?"  asked  the  little 
girl,  who  began  to  feel  a  liking  for  her  host. 

"  Sellin'  papers,  ter  be  sure.  I  shined  boots 
oncet,  but  dat  ain't  nothin'  to  papers.  Yer 
buys  'em  so   much  off,  an'  yer  sells   at  reg'lar 


164  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

prices,  same  as  der  chaps  on  Wall  street,  an 
yer  pockets  der  odds.  Say,  I  earnt  mos'  two 
dollars  ter  day,  an'  I  got  fifteen  dollars  in  der 
bank." 

*'What  is  your  name?"  was  Sophie's  next 
question. 

*'  I'se  called  Bob,"  he  replied,  *'  an'  a  good 
'nough  name,  too!     What's  yours .^" 

"  Sophie.    Do  you  know  where  my  papa  is  ?  " 

''Got  a  pa,  have  yer?  No,  I  don't  know 
nothin'  'bout  him.     What  is  he  ?" 

"  He's  the  cashier  of  the  bank.  He  went 
away  night  before  last,  and  I  came  after  him. 
I  saw  him  yesterday  on  the  platform  in  the  big 
square.  And  then  three  men  had  hold  of  him 
and  I  fell  down." 

'' Dat  feller?"  exclaimed  Bob  staring,  with 
his  mouth  full  of  cheese  and  sausage.  "  Sort 
er  pale  an'  wildlookin'?  Why,  I  seed  him! 
Dem  fellers  as  had  holt  on  him  was  Black  Hal 
an' his  gang.  Datyourpa?  Well,  a  nice  lot 
he  goes  with,  for  a  cash'er!  What's  he  call 
hisself,  anyhow?" 

"  His  name  is  John  Parmelee,"  said  Sophie,  in 
a  tone  meant  to  rebuke  her  companion's  levity. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  1 65 

Either  the  tone  or  something  else  certainly 
did  produce  an  effect  upon  Bob.  The  careless 
good  humor  of  his  countenance  suddenly  gave 
place  to  an  extreme  solemnity.  He  contem- 
plated the  little  girl  with  startled  curiosity. 

"  John  Parmelee !"  he  repeated  at  length. 
**  Cash'er  of  der  bank  !  Say,  little  girl,  was  dat 
der  bank  up  at  Tisdale  ?" 

Sophie  intimated  that  it  was. 

"  Say  !  "  exclaimed  Bob,  emitting  a  long 
breath,  "  Well,  dat's  a  good  un  !  Why,  he's  der 
feller  what's  been  in  all  der  papers  !  I  selled 
more'n  fifty  papers  off  er  him  !  An'  they  said 
he  was  'scaped  to  Canady." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Sophie, 
quite  mystified. 

''  Why,  John  Parmelee's  der  feller  what  steal- 
ed  der  money  out  er  der  safe  at  Tisdale !"  cried 
Bob,  with  an  explosion  of  emphasis. 

*'  It  is  false  !  my  papa  never  stole  any  thing  !" 
returned  Sophie,  with  vehement  indignation. 

"  Oh,  come  off !  "  said  Bob,  incredulously? 
"  It's  all  in  der  papers,  I  tells  yer  !  Stealed 
more'n  fifty-seven  t'ousand  dollars  !  It  was  last 
Wednesday  night  as  der  job  was  done ;  ain't  I 


1 66  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

been  a-hoUerin'  it  all  day?  An'  deys  offered  a 
t'ousand  dollars  reward  for  der  chaps  as  runs 
him  in  !  " 

"I  don't  care  what  they  say!"  exclaimed 
Sophie.  "  I  know  he  didn't  steal  it,  for  I  was 
there  when  he  went  away ;  and  he  left  all  the 
money  behind  him.  He  put  it  in  a  secret  place 
under  the  floor  ©f  the  sitting  room,  because 
some  one  had  written  him  in  a  letter  that  rob- 
bers were  coming  to  rob  the  bank  ;  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  better  there  than  in  the  safe. 
And  then  he  went  away,  and  I  came  after  him 
to  bring  him  back." 

Bob  listened  to  all  this  with  close  atten- 
tion. 

"What  did  he  go  away  fur?"  he  asked  at 
length. 

"  I  think  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing," 
said  Sophie,  with  some  feeling  of  mortification. 

'*  Oh,  ah  !— tight  ?  "  said  Bob,  with  a  nod  of 
intelligence. 

''  It  is  something  he  eats,"  Sophie  explained. 
"  He  is  that  way  every  evening  ;  but  that  eve- 
ning he  was  more  so  than  usual." 

**  Hello  !     Why,  he's  one  o'  them  ere  opium 


JOHN-  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  167 

fiends!  "  exclaimed  Bob,  vivaciously.  ''Oh,  I 
know  all  about  dem  !  I  goes  down  ter  der  jint 
myself,  oncet  in  a  while  ;  an*  I've  tried  hittin' 
der  pipe,  too  ;  but  it  just  made  me  chuck  up 
victuals,  an'  I  stopped  it.  But  I  knows  'em. 
Do  you  see  dat  old  gal  lyin'  there?"  he  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  the  sleeping  woman  in  the 
corner.  "  She's  one  on  'em.  Crazy  Sal,  we 
calls  her.  But  say,  where's  all  dat  money, 
now  t 

"  I  have  it  with  me,"  Sophie  replied  ;  "  Fve 
got  in  my — oh !  "  she  broke  off,  with  an  accent 
of  consternation,  "  what  has  become  of  my 
black  satchel  ?" 

"  Yer  bag,  do  yer  mean  ?  Dat's  right  !  I 
fetched  it  along,  an'  dere  it  is,  under  the  mat- 
tress. But,  Great  Scissors !  "  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, sitting  erect,  as  if  something  had  stung 
him,  while  his  red  hair  seemed  to  stand  up 
all  over  his  head,  "  do  yer  mean  for  ter  say  as 
how  all  dat  fifty-seven  t'ousand  dollars  is  in 
that  bag  o'  yourn  ?  " 

"  You  musn't  tell  any  body  !  "  said  Sophie, 
with  a  startled  look. 

"  Oh,  doncher  worry!     I  ain't  no   squealer  I 


1 6  8  JOHN  FARM  ELBE 'S  CVRSE. 

But  say,  what  'yer  goln'  to  do  with  it  ?  Gi' 
me  a  hundred,  will  yer?  Oh,  my!  couldn't 
we  have  a  gay  time  !  We'd  buy  a  kerridge  an' 
drive  roun'  the  park !  an'  go  to  the  theayter 
in  der  private  box  !  an'  take  our  drinks  over 
der  Hoffman  House  bar  I  Let's  have  a  squint 
at  it !  " 

"You  musn't  !"  said  Sophie,  with  decision. 
"  You  don't  understand.  The  money  isn't 
mine  at  all  ;  it  belongs  to  the  people  who  put  it 
in  the  bank.  I'm  going  to  give  it  to  my  papa 
to  give  back  to  them.  If  I  touched  a  bit  of 
it  I  should  be  a  thief !  " 

*'  By  golly,  ain't  you  jest  honest !  "  sighed 
Bob,  gazing  at  her  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity 
and  admiration.  ''  But  dat's  a  stavin'  big  pile," 
he  continued,  pensively.  ''  Ef  we  was  to 
take  out  on'y  jest  \  hundred  dollars,  nobody'd 
never  mind  !     An'  I'd  do  all  der  treatin' !  " 

Sophie  shook  her  head.  "  We  should  be 
robbers  ;  and  robbers  can  never  be  happy  !  " 

"  Dey  can't,  can't  dey  !  "  returned  Bob,  briskly 
"  I  ain't  so  sure !  Dere's  Black  Hal  an'  his 
gang;  dey's  all  gay  'nough,  for  what  I  see ! 
An'  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  added,  dropping  his 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  169 

voice  to  a  tone  of  mystery,  and  bending  over 
toward  her  ;  *'  here's  a  queer  go — I  didn't  think 
to  speak  on  it  afore  !  Black  Hal's  dere  feller 
what  laid  der  pipes  to  crack  der  Tisdale  Bank. 
An'  Crazy  Sal,  dere,  an'  me,  we  heared  'em 
talkin'  of  it ;  an'  she  said  as  how  she  was  goin' 
ter  write  to  der  bank  fellers,  to  warn  'em.  So 
dat  must  be  der  letter  yer  pa  got, — do  yer 
catch  on?  " 

''  How  did  you  hear  what  Black  Hal  was 
saying  about  the  bank?"  Sophie  inquired. 
'*  And  what  made  that  person  who  is  asleep 
there  care  whether  he  robbed  the  bank  or  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  a  big  secret  'bout  Black  Hal," 
Bob  replied,  with  a  chuckle  ;  "■  but  seein'  it's  you, 
I  guess  I'll  tell  yer.  Yer  see,  dis  'ere  house  we 
lives  in  is  right  up  alongside  of  another  house  ; 
dere  ain't  but  der  thickness  of  a  wall  betwixt 
'em,  but  to  get  into  der  other  house,  yer  has 
to  go  inter  another  door,  way  roun'  der  corner. 
Well,  Black  Hal,  he  don't  know  dat  ;  but  yer 
bets  yer  life  I  knows  it !  and  what's  more,  his 
room's  right  alongside  of  ourn,  and  I've  got  a 
hole  t'rough  the  wall !  So,  if  I  wants  ter  hear 
'em  talk  any  time,  what  I  does,  I  pulls  out  der 


170  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

plug   and    puts  my  ear   to  der  hole,    an'  dere 
I  be!" 

Suiting  the  deed  to  the  word  Bob  arose, 
went  to  the  wall  opposite  the  door  and  removed 
a  section  of  the  plaster  about  a  foot  in  diameter, 
disclosing  the  bricks  beneath.  One  of  these 
bricks  he  pulled  out,  and  thereby  revealed  a 
crevice,  three  inches  high  and  half  an  inch  in 
its  greatest  width,  which  penetrated  through 
into  the  adjoining  room. 

•'  But  I  should  think  they  would  see  that 
from  the  other  side,"  Sophie  remarked. 

'*  Dat's  all  right?"  said  Bob,  replacing  the 
brick.  "  I'se  been  aroun'  ter  look.  T'other 
house  don't  go  so  far  out  as  ourn,  and  der  hole 
comes  right  in  der  corner  of  der  room.  I  can 
hear  all  dey  says,  an'  see  some  too,  when  dey's 
got  der  lamp  lit.  An'  dat's  where  dey  go  ter 
talk  deir  biggest  secrets;  dey  don't  suspect 
nothin' !  "  and  Bob  winked  archly. 

"And  that  was  how  you  heard  about  the 
robbery?  "  said  Sophie. 

"In  course  it  was !  An' I  telled  Sal.  An' 
when  she  beared  'bout  Tisdale,  she  sorter 
pricked  up  her  ears,  Sal  did,  an'  let  on  as  she'd 


JOHN  FARM E LEE '  S  CURSE.  1 7 1 

write  an'  stop  it.  Oh,  Sal's  a  cur'ous  critter, 
an*  don't  yerforgit  it !  Guess  she  must  'a  been 
a  lady  oncet.  She  says  as  how  Black  Hal's 
her  brother.  He  comes  in  here  times,  when 
he's  flush,  an'  gives  her  a  quarter  for  opium. 
But  she  ain't  like  him ;  she's  a  good  sort,  Sal 
is,  if  she  is  crazy !  I  has  her  to  live  with  me  ; 
an'  I  don't  charge  her  nothin'  for  board, 
neither !  " 

"  Does  she  stay  here  all  the  time?"  inquired 
Sophie. 

"  No ;  she  sorter  loafs  'bout  der  streets,  an* 
sings  songs  ;  an'  fellers  tips  her  pennies  ;  she 
can  sing  a  daisy  song,  Sal  can,  when  she  gits 
warmed  up  to  it  !  Den  she  goes  down  to  der 
j'int  an'  hits  der  pipe,  or  chews,  like  yer  pa. 
She's  sleepin'  solid,  now  ;  but  times,  when  she's 
awake,  she'll  talk  right  along,  an'  don't  care  if 
yer  listens  to  her  or  not." 

"  What  does  she  talk  about  ? "  asked 
Sophie,  glancing  at  the  unconscious  woman 
with  interest, 

"  Oh,  'bout  her  husban',  an'  a  little  gal  she 
had,  an'  the  fun  dey  useter  have  together;  but 
I  guess  dey's  dead  now ;  for  dey's  none  of  'era 


172  JOHN  PARMELEES  CURSE. 

ever  comes  here.  An'  Sal,  she'll  be  dead,  too, 
'fore  long,  ef  she  don't  let  up  on  herself. 
Guess  it  '11  sorter  break  me  up,  when  Sal  pegs 
out ;  I  ain't  got  no  pertickler  use  for  her  ;  but 
I  ain't  ever  had  no  ma  nor  pa,  and  I  kinder 
like  to  have  old  Sal  aroun'.  Have  yer  had  all 
yer  wants  to  eat  ?  " 

*' Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Sophie.  **  I'm  very 
sorry  for  the  poor  lady,  and  I  think  it's  very 
good  of  you  to  be  kind  to  her." 

*',Yer'  gettin'  sleepy,  ain't  yer?  "  Bob  inquired 
briskly. 

**  I, believe  I  am,"  she  admitted.  ''But  if  I 
go  to  sleep,  I  shall  dream  of  my  papa,  and  that 
he  is  with  me  ;  and  then,  when  I  wake  up,  it 
won't  be  true.     I  wish  I  knew  where  he  was  !  " 

*'  Jest  you  go  to  sleep,"  said  Bob,  "  an'  I'll 
find  out  'bout  yer  pa  termorrer.  Ef  Black 
Hal's  got  him,  I  knows  where  ter  look  ;  so 
doncher  worry  !  " 

"  Black  Hal  won't  come  here  and  find  my 
satchel,  will  he  ? "  demanded  Sophie,  her  dark 
eyes  opening  widely  in  sudden  anxiety. 

"  Not  if  I  knows  it,  he  won't  !  "  returned 
Bob,  with  manly  confidence.     "  I'se  pertectin' 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  1 7 3 

yer.  I  is  ;  an'  Black  Hal  nor  nobody  else  don't 
git  ahead  on  me  !  I'll  fix  yer  bag  all  right ; 
talk  about  yer  secret  hidin'  places  !  dere's  more 
on  'em  in  dis  room  dan  holes  in  a  sieve  !  Jest 
you  curl  up  an'  take  a  snooze,  little  gal,  an* 
dream  of  yer  pa  all  yer  wants  to !  " 

Sophie  lay  down  accordingly;  and,  thor- 
oughly tired  out  with  fatigue  of  mind  and  body, 
almost  immediately  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 

Bob  sat  for  awhile,  feeling  of  his  bare  toes 
in  an  abstracted  manner  and  occasionally 
scratching  his  head.  At  length  he  roused  him- 
self from  his  reverie,  looked  closely  at  the  sleep- 
ing girl,  and  then,  inserting  his  hand  beneath 
the  mattress,  drew  forth  the  black  satchel. 

He  opened  it  and  saw  the  nightgown  and 
comb  and  brush.  The  latter  he  knew  the  use 
of  theoretically,  but  the  nightgown  was  an  enig- 
ma to  him.  He  took  them  out  and  laid  them 
on  one  side,  and  then  extracted  the  brown  pa- 
per parcel. 

It  was  carefully  tied  up,  but  was  not  sealed. 
On  it  was  written,  in  a  clear,  clerkly  hand,  the 
pregnant  words:  "Fifty-seven  thousand,  one 
hundred  and  forty-nine  dollars  and  fifty  cents." 


174  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

Bob  studied  every  stroke  of  this  writing  with 
deep  scrutiny.  Not  that  he  found  any  diffi- 
culty in  reading  it ;  he  comprehended  its  im- 
port perfectly  well.  He  lifted  the  parcel,  and 
"hefted"  it  in  his  hand.  He  squeezed  it  be- 
tween his  fingers,  and  noted  its  compactness. 
He  got  to  his  feet  and  walked  around  the  room, 
with  it  under  his  arm. 

As  he  approached  the  door  on  his  second 
round,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  handle  and 
opened  it.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
did  so  ;  but  neither  of  the  sleepers  had  stirred. 
He  stepped  across  the  threshold,  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him, — still,  however,  keep- 
ing his  fingers  on  the  latch.  After  a  mo- 
ment, he  opened  the  door  and  came  back. 
Nothing  in  the  room  had  changed. 

"■  It  'ud  be  as  easy  as  fallin'  off  a  log!"  he 
said,  half  aloud. 

The  brown  paper  parcel  seemed  alive.  He 
could  almost  fancy  it  was  drawing  him  toward 
the  door  again.  He  returned  to  the  mattress, 
and  squatted  down  beside  it,  with  the  parcel 
on  his  knees.  The  writing  was  uppermiost.  It 
read   like   an  .  invitation — an    imperative    surn- 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  1 75 

mons!  He  turned  the  parcel  over;  but  he 
could  see  the  writing  plainer  than  ever,  in  his 
mind. 

Bob  knew  nothing  of  heaven  and  hell,  except 
in  the  way  of  emphatic  statement.  He  had 
never  formed  the  conception  of  an  immortal 
soul,  liable  to  everlasting  happiness  or  misery. 
So  far  as  his  observation  went,  the  only  draw- 
back to  evil  doing  was  the  risk  of  being  found 
out.  He  had  not  seldom  yielded  to  such 
temptations  as  came  in  his  way,  and  no  par- 
ticular harm  had  resulted  from  it. 

On  the  other  hand  he  knew  a  good  deal 
about  the  value  of  money.  It  could  give  him 
every  thing  he  wanted,  and  relieve  him  from 
every  thing  that  was  irksome.  It  meant  power 
and  pleasure  unlimited ;  and  here  it  was  abso- 
lutely in  his  grasp.  "  Fifty-seven  thousand, 
one  hundred  and  forty-nine  dollars  and  fifty 
cents!" 

All  this  was  clear  enough.  There  was  only 
one  thing  that  Bob  could  not  understand  ;  and 
that  was,  that  In  spite  of  all  the  above  practical 
considerations,  there  was  in  him  something 
that  blindly  and   perversely  opposed   itself  to 


1 7  6  JOHN  FARM  ELBE  S  CURSE. 

them,  and  made  him  feel  that  he  should  never 
be  quite  comfortable  if  he  accepted  the  com- 
fort which  the  contents  of  that  bundle  could 
give  him. 

*'  Oh,  what  darned  foolishness  !  "  said  Bob, 
frowning,  and  tucking  the  bundle  under  his 
arm.     "  I'll  do  it,  anyway  !" 

His  eyes  fell  upon  Sophie;  he  bent  over,  and 
gazed  into  her  face.  The  child  stirred  in  her 
sleep  ;  she  turned  partly  over,  smiled,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Papa,  dearest  papa  !  " 

Bob  laid  down  the  bundle.  A  hot  flush  came 
into  his  face,  and  his  breast  heaved.  A  new 
current  of  thoughts  flooded  his  mind,  and  made 
his  eyes  smart.  At  the  same  time  his  heart 
felt  lighter  than  a  moment  before.  He  jumped 
to  his  feet,  caught  up  the  bundle,  and  disposed 
it  in  a  place  where  it  would  be  out  of  the  way, 
and  safe. 

'Tse  pertectin'  her,  I  is!"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  made  his  preparations  for  repose.  **I 
ain't  a-goin'  back  on  her, — not  me  !  "  This  was 
his  interpretation  of  the  experience,  and  perhaps 
it  was  as  good  as  another. 

But  Bob  was  not  destined  to  sleep  yet.     He 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  177 

had  scarcely  lain  down  when  he  sat  up  again, 
listening  intently.  An  ear  less  acute  than  his 
might  not  have  noticed  any  thing ;  but  an 
instant's  attention  informed  Bob  that  some- 
body had  entered  the  adjoining  room  of  the 
other  house.  Ordinarily  he  might  have  paid 
no  further  heed  to  the  matter;  but  to-night 
there  was  a  special  motive  for  investigating  it. 

He  had  put  out  the  lamp  on  lying  down, 
and  the  room  was  dark.  He  arose  noiselessly, 
and  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  aperture  in  the  wall. 
Cautiously  he  removed  the  loose  brick,  and 
applied  first  his  ear  and  then  his  eye  to  the 
hole. 

There  were  four  men  in  the  room,  all  of 
whom  Bob  recognized.  Harold  Blackmer, 
alias  Black  Hal,  was  one  ;  then  there  were  Dick 
and  Mike,  his  business  partners ;  and  the 
fourth  man  was  John  Parmelee,  gagged,  and 
bearing  evidence  of  rough  usage. 


XVII. 

PARMELEE  was  evidently  worn  out.  As 
he  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room  his 
legs  shook  from  exhaustion  and  his  head 
drooped  forward  on  his  breast.  The  fatigue 
of  his  long  tramp  and  want  of  sleep  and  food 
were  enough  to  account  for  his  condition,  but 
his  worst  suffering  probably  came  from  his 
enforced  abstinence  from  opium.  The  promise 
he  had  made  to  Sophie  on  Wednesday  night 
had  been  kept  ever  since  involuntarily. 

His  delirium  had  passed  away;  but  this 
fact,  perhaps,  rather  added  to  the  misery  of 
his  plight  than  diminished  it. 

The  room  in  which  he  found  himself  was 
comfortably  furnished  ;  it  was  used  by  Black- 
mer  and  his  gang  as  a  specially  secure  and  in- 
accessible retreat.  Here  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  coming  to  discuss  their  plans  or  to 
transact  any  business  requiring  exceptional 
privacy.     There  was   a    thick   carpet    on    the 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  179 

floor  to  deaden  sound,  and  the  walls  were 
hung  with  dark  paper.  There  were  half 
a  dozen  stout  and  comfortable  chairs 
and  a  broad  bottomed  sofa  that  could 
be  used  as  a  bed.  A  four-legged  table 
and  a  stove  which  could  be  adapted  to  cook- 
ing purposes  completed  the  furniture.  There 
was  a  cupboard  in  the  corner  containing  dishes 
and  glasses  and  some  bottles  of  wine  and 
spirits.  The  window  of  the  room  was  pro- 
tected by  a  heavy  dark  curtain,  and  the  door 
could  be  barricaded  by  a  couple  of  iron  bars, 
fitting  into  sockets.  Altogether,  it  was  a 
much  snugger  and  more  presentable  apart- 
ment than  the  one  on  which  Bob  so  prided 
himself. 

Blackmer  led  Parmelee  to  a  chair,  into  which 
the  latter  immediately  sank  down.  The  gag 
was  then  removed  from  his  mouth,  and  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water  was  set  before  him,  which 
he  drained  eagerly.  Meanwhile,  Dick  and 
Mike  were  unpacking  and  setting  on  the  table 
the  contents  of  a  basket.  There  were  a  couple 
of  roast  chickens,  some  fried  oysters,  and  other 
suitable  viands. 


iSo  JOHl^  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

"  Now,  John,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Blackmer, 
in  a  friendly  tone,  '*  if  you  have  any  appetite — 
and  you  look  as  if  you  had — fall  to  and  enjoy 
yourself.  Don't  be  bashful ;  we'll  send  in  our 
bill  afterward  !  " 

A  starving  man  does  not  stand  upon  niceties 
of  ceremony.  John  Parmelee  ate  what  was 
before  him,  while  the  other  three  also  seated 
themselves  at  the  table,  and  swallowed  what- 
ever solid  or  liquid  nourishment  was  to  their 
several  tastes.  After  all  had  finished,  Black- 
mer took  up  the  word  again. 

*'  Well,  brother-in-law,"  he  said,  lighting  a 
cigar,  and  throwing  one  leg  carelessly  over  the 
other,  "  I'm  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  a  chat 
with  you,  after  all  these  years.  And  let  me 
apologize  for  the  unceremonious  manner  in 
which  you  were  brought  here.  There  was  no 
time  for  explanations,  at  the  moment ;  and 
your  usually  acute  intellect  seemed  to  be,  tem- 
porarily, a  little  obscured.  But  we  are  all  right 
now  ;  and  should  there  be  any  further  trouble, 
you  will  be  to  blame  for  it,  not  we." 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?  Why  did  you 
bring  me  here?"  asked  Parmelee. 


JOHN  PAR  MELEE '  S  CURSE.  1 8 1 

"Well,  hang  me  if  he  ain't  a  cool  hand !  " 
muttered  Dick,  picking  his  teeth  pensively. 

**  It  was  an  alternative  between  bringing  you 
here,  and  allowing  the  detectives  to  provide  you 
with  quarters  in  the  Tombs,"  Blackmer  replied. 
"  This  retreat,  if  not  luxurious,  is  at  least  as 
comfortable  as  a  stone  cell  and  bread  and  water ; 
and  it  has  this  advantage — that  you  can,  on 
certain  conditions,  escape  from  it  ;  whereas  the 
Tombs — well — you  can  judge  for  yourself !  " 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Par- 
melee. 

"  Don't  yez  be  givin*  us  none  uv  yer  danged 
imperance  !  "  growled  Mike,  threateningly. 

''Will  you  stow  that?"  said  Blackmer  to 
him,  in  a  sharp  tone.  "■  Who's  bossing  this 
thing,  you  or  I  ?  There's  no  need  to  hurry  Mr. 
Parmelee ;  he'll  come  round  as  soon  as  he  has 
taken  in  the  situation.  "  Possibly,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Parmelee,  "  you  have  not  had  leis- 
ure to  glance  at  the  morning  paper?" 

He  drew  one  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it 
to  his  brother-in-law,  who  ran  his  eyes  over  the 
double-headed  and  illustrated  columns,  with  an 
air  of  bewilderment.     Then  he  looked  up  and 


tS2  JOHN  FARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

met  the  gaze  of  the  three  men  fixed  upon 
him. 

'*  I  know  nothing  about  this,"  he  said.  *'  This 
paper  is  dated  Friday.  I  thought  to-day  was 
Thursday.  They  are  wrong  ;  I  have  stolen  no 
money.  The  last  I  remember,  I  was  in  my 
house  in  Tisdale,  waiting  for — "  He  stopped 
short. 

"You're  as  good  as  a  play,  you  are!"  re- 
marked Dick,  sarcastically.  "  Go  on,  young 
man  !  " 

"  That  is  all  I  have  to  say,"  replied  Parmelee. 

"  Of  course  we  believe  every  thing  you  say," 
Blackmer  observed,  with  elaborate  courtesy. 
•*  But  we  want  to  know  one  thing  more ;  what 
have  you  done  with  the  money." 

"  I  have  none  of  it.  I  presume  the  directors 
have  it." 

*' Ah,  indeed!  In  that  case,  it  is  odd  they 
should  be  offering  a  thousand  dollars  for  the 
capture  of  the  man  Avho  stole  it — whose  name, 
by  a  strange  coincidence,  happens  to  be  the 
same  as  your  own !  Come,  come,  my  dear 
John!  You  are  wasting  your  talents  as  an 
actor  to  no  purpose.     To  encourage  you,  I'll 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  1 83 

set  you  an  example  of  frankness.  Last  Wed- 
nesday evening,  I  and  my  two  friends  here 
took  a  trip  out  to  Tisdale  to  relieve  you  of  the 
charge  of  that  money.  When  we  got  there, 
like  old  Mother  Hubbard,  the  safe  was  bare  and 
the  cashier  was  gone.  Now,  it  is  certain  we 
haven't  got  the  money;  the  directors  behave  as 
if  they  hadn't  got  it  ;  so  that  the  painful  con- 
viction is  forced  upon  us  that — in  short — that 
my  respected  brother-in-law  is,  after  all,  human 
like  the  rest  of  us  !  Honestly,  now,  don't  you 
think  so  yourself  ?  " 

While  Blackmer  had  been  speaking,  in  his 
suave,  unrelenting  tones,  Parmelee  had  been 
mechanically  staring  at  the  newspaper  in  front 
of  him  ;  and  all  at  once  his  eye  caught  a  para- 
graph about  Sophie.  He  had  hitherto  sup- 
posed that  the  child  had  remained  at  home,  and 
must,  sooner  or  later,  have  informed  the  direc- 
tors as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  money.  But 
here  she  also  was  reported  to  be  missing ! 
What  could  have  become  of  her  ? 

Again  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  confronted  the 
faces  before  him.  A  terrible  fear  made  his 
heart  sick. 


1 84  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  my  little  daugh- 
ter?    Sophie — where  is  she?"  he  cried  out. 

The  men  glanced  at  one  another,  and  laughed. 

''What  have  you  done  with  her,  I  say?  "  he 
shouted,  jumping  to  his  feet  in  a  frenzy.  **  By 
Heaven  !  if  you  have  harmed  a  hair  of  her  head, 
I'll—" 

A  blow  from  IMike's  herculean  fist,  delivered 
straight  between  the  eyes,  knocked  John  Par- 
melee  senseless  to  the  floor.  Wlien  he  came 
to  himself  he  was  seated  in  the  chair,  and  bound 
to  it  hand  and  foot.  Blackmer  stood  in  front 
of  him,  with  the  gag  between  his  fingers. 

'' Listen  to  me,  John,"  he  said.  ''We  will 
have  no  more  of  this  foolery.  If  you  don't 
put  up,  we'll  shut  you  up — for  good  and  all ! 
We  are  willing  to  go  shares  with  you  in  the 
money  ;  we  will  take  the  fifty  thousand  and  you 
can  keep  the  balance.  If  you  don't  consent  to 
that,  and  tell  us  where  to  find  the  stuff — by 
God  !  you  shall  never  leave  this  room  alive  !  I 
mean  what  I  say  !  Now,  what  is  your  answer?" 

There  was  a  silence.  The  sweat  broke  out 
on  the  prisoner's  pallid  forehead.  He  knew 
the  threat  was  no  idle  one ;  there  could  be  no 


JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  C  URSE.  1 85 

hope  of  succor  in  a  place  like  this.  He  knew, 
moreover,  or  he  fancied  he  did,  that,  since 
Sophie  was  not  at  home,  the  money  must  still 
be  lying  in  the  hole  under  the  sitting-room 
floor.  If  he  told  them  this  they  would  set  him 
free  sooner  or  later,  and  they  would  restore  to 
him  his  little  daughter,  who  otherwise  might  be 
the  victim  of  such  a  fate  as  he  shuddered  to 
think  of,  for  that  they  had  captured  Sophie  he 
no  longer  doubted.  She  must  have  been  there 
when  they  came,  and  they  had  carried  her  off 
as  a  hostage. 

The  alternative,  therefore,  as  it  presented 
itself  to  his  mind,  was  this  :  If  he  kept  silence, 
death  to  himself,  and  death,  or  worse,  to 
Sophie;  if  bespoke,  freedom  to  both  of  them, 
and  probably  the  means  of  escape  from  the 
country.     It  was  a  heart-breaking  temptation. 

But  John  Parmelee,  though  weak  in  some 
ways,  was  strong  in  others. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  I"  he  said,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

Blackmer  had  a  shrewd,  if  superficial  know- 
ledge of  human  nature.  It  was  impossible  for 
him  to  believe  that  Parmelee  had  not   got  the 


l86  JOHN  FARM  ELBE'S  CURSE. 

money ;  or,  consequently,  that  he  would  not 
prefer  giving  it  up,  to  death.  Moreover,  he 
wanted  the  money,  and  was  strongly  averse,  on 
politic  grounds,  to  murder.  He  had  not  com- 
prehended the  part  that  Sophie  played  in  the 
matter,  but,  had  he  done  so,  it  would  only  have 
strengthened  his  conviction  of  final  success. 

**  You  are  a  tough  customer,  John,"  he  said 
quietly  ;  ''  but  you  are  reckoning  on  finding  a 
soft  place  in  us,  and  you  are  badly  mistaken.  I 
will  give  you  one  more  chance.  We  have  some 
business  round  the  corner,  and  shall  be  gone 
half  an  hour.  Think  it  over  in  the  mean  while  ; 
and  have  your  mind  made  up  by  the  time  we 
come  back.  If  you  are  willing  to  do  what  we 
wish  then,  well  and  good.  If  not,  you  will  never 
see  the  light  of  day  again,  and  no  one  will  ever 
know  what  you  died  of.  That's  my  last  word  to 
you  ! 

With  this  he  replaced  the  gag  in  Parmelee's 
mouth,  and  the  three  went  out  together,  lock- 
ing the  door  behind  them,  and  leaving  their 
prisoner  to  his  reflections. 


XVIII. 

BEFORE  Sophie  was  fully  awake  the  next 
morning,  there  was  mingled  with  her  dreams 
a  song,  which  she  had  often  heard  her  father 
sing.  But  this  time  it  seemed  to  be  sung  in  a 
woman's  voice,  worn  but  sweet,  and  with  a 
quality  in  it  so  pathetic  that,  when  the  little 
girl  awoke  at  last,  there  were  tears  on  her 
cheeks. 

She  raised  herself  on  her  mattress,  and,  turn- 
ing round,  saw  the  elderly  woman  of  the  night 
before,  standing  in  front  of  the  window  and 
looking  out,  with  her  long  gray  hair  hanging 
down  her  back.  She  was  singing  the  last  verse 
of  the  song,  which  ran  thus  : — 

' '  Now,  our  kisses  all  are  over. 
But  the  dreams  of  past  embraces 
Haunt  my  sleep  in  nights  of  June, 
Till,  awaking,  dreams  forsaking, 
I,  that  was  last  year  her  lover, 
Question,  '  Was  it  curse  or  boon?  " 
Nay — for  love  is  not  time's  toy  ; 
WTio  but  once  hath  seen  his  face,  is 
Heir  of  an  eternal  joy  !  " 


1 88  JOHN  P ARM E LEE ' S  CURSE. 

The  woman  now  moved  from  the  window, 
and  showed  a  face  which  was  pale  and  wasted, 
but  in  which  were  still  visible  the  traces  of  re- 
markable beauty.  She  had  large,  dark,  heavy- 
lidded  eyes,  with  long,  sweeping  brows ;  a 
straight,  delicate  nose,  and  a  mouth  profoundly 
sad.  But  she  had  an  uncared-for,  disheveled 
look  ;  her  attire  was  poor  and  dingy;  and  she 
met  the  child's  inquiring  scrutiny  with  a  dreamy, 
uncertain  glance,  which,  however,  gradually 
formed  itself  into  an  expression  of  gentle 
friendliness. 

''  Good-morning,"  said  Sophie  ;  and  then,  as 
the  woman  did  not  immediately  reply,  she 
asked  :    "  Do  you  know  where  Bob  is  ?  " 

*'  Bob  is  selling  papers,  my  dear,"  replied 
the  woman,  in  a  soft,  slow  voice.  "  He  goes 
out  much  earlier  than  this.    Bob  is  a  good  boy." 

''  He  hasn't  any  mother,  has  he !  "  Sophie 
inquired. 

The  woman  had  begun  to  comb  out  her  long 
gray  hair.  She  paused  at  the  question,  and 
flung  her  hair  back  from  her  face. 

"  Bob  is  as  good  as  a  son  tome,"  she  replied, 
at  length. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  189 

"You  have  no  son  of  your  own?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  had  a  daughter  once." 

''  Is  she  dead  ?  " 

It  was  some  time  before  the  woman  answered. 
At  last  she  said,  *'  No  ;  she  is  not  dead.  It 
is  I  who  am  dead.     I  died  years  ago  !  " 

The  startling  assertion  was  made  so  quietly 
that  Sophie  was  not  startled.  She  would  prob- 
ably have  been  afraid  of  a  ghost  if  she  had 
seen  one  ;  but  this  woman  did  not  fulfill  her 
idea  of  a  ghost.  She  recollected  that  Bob  had 
called  her  Crazy  Sal,  and  said  she  ate  opium  ; 
and  she  concluded  that  this  was  merely  such 
an  instance  of  aberration  as  she  had  often 
noticed  in  her  father. 

"  My  papa  has  gone  away,  and  I  am  looking 
for  him,"  she  said.  '*  He  went  away  in  the 
night,  when  he  did  not  know  what  he  was 
doing.  Did  your  little  girl  lose  you  in  the 
same  way  I  lost  him  ?  " 

Crazy  Sal,  who  had  listened  intently  to  the 
tones  of  the  child's  voice,  gazing  at  her  earn- 
estly the  while,  now  asked  :  ''  Are  you  like 
your  father  ?  " 

**  My  papa  is  a  tall  man,  and  I  am  a  little 


190  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

girl,"  Sophie  answered.  ''  We  are  not  a  bit 
alike." 

The  woman  continued  to  scrutinize  her 
searchingly  for  a  few  moments  ;  then  her  eyes 
gradually  resumed  their  wonted  dreamy  ex- 
pression, and  she  shook  her  head. 

''  It's  only  a  fancy,  like  the  rest,"  she  mut- 
tered to  herself,  combing  her  hair.  ''  It  isn't 
real.  It  won't  come  true.  They  have  forgot- 
ten me.  If  I  went  back  they  wouldn't  want 
me.  Christ  raised  the  dead  ;  but  He  never 
raised  the  dead  who  died  as  I  have  done." 

Meanwhile,  Sophie  got  up,  and,  with  the 
neatness  and  love  of  order  that  were  character- 
istic of  her,  began  to  pick  the  bits  of  straw 
from  her  dress  and  to  put  the  bed  in  as  pre- 
sentable a  condition  as  the  circumstances 
admitted.  The  remains  of  last  night's  supper 
were  still  on  the  table,  and  these  Sophie  re-ar- 
ranged and  christened  breakfast.  She  had  by 
this  time  acquired  a  good  appetite,  and  she 
cheerfully  invited  Crazy  Sal  to  sit  down  and 
partake  with  her. 

Sal,  however,  had  not  known  what  it  was  to 
be  wholesomely  hungry  for  a  good  many  years  ; 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  19I 

she  contented  herself  with  a  piece  of  biscuit 
and  a  few  mouthfuls  of  water.  But,  as  soon 
she  turned  away  from  the  table,  Sophie 
noticed  her  slip  something  between  her  lips, 
which  the  child  shrewdly  suspected  to  be 
opium. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  the  woman's  spirits  soon 
showed  some  improvement  ;  the  lines  of  her 
face  softened,  and  her  manner  became  less  in- 
coherent and  restless.  She  stood  in  the  win- 
dow with  her  hands  hanging  folded  before  her, 
humming  to  herself,  and  watching  the  sun- 
shine creep  down  the  brick  wall  on  the  other 
side  of  the  narrow  court-yard.  When  it  reached 
a  certain  point  it  would  be  ten  o'clock,  at 
which  hour  it  was  Sal's  custom  to  go  forth. 

**  I  will  help  you  find  your  papa,  dear,"  she 
said  to  Sophie.  "  I  will  sing  in  the  squares 
and  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  and  you  shall 
stand  beside  me ;  and  perhaps,  among  the 
crowd  that  stops  to  listen,  you  will  see  your 
papa." 

Sophie  was  about  to  explain  that  Bob  had 
already  promised  to  bring  her  news  of  her 
father,  and  that  it  would  therefore  be  best  to 


1 9  2  JOHN  PA  RMELEE ' S  CURSE. 

await  them  where  she  was,  when  the  thought 
of  the  black  satchel  entered  her  mind,  and, 
along  with  it,  an  appalling  misgiving.  She  had 
seen  it  placed  under  her  mattress  the  night 
before;  but  she  remembered  that,  when  mak- 
ing over  the  bed  this  morning,  she  had  not 
come  across  it.  She  ran  to  the  mattress  and 
turned  it  back.  Yes,  the  black  satchel  was 
gone ! 

The  room  was  so  bare  and  empty  of  furni- 
ture that  to  search  it  seemed  to  require  hardly 
more  than  a  glance.  The  satchel  was  nowhere 
visible.  Sophie  stood  in  dismay.  Almost  as 
much  as  its  loss  did  she  lament  the  shadow 
thereby  cast  on  the  reputation  of  her  friend 
Bob.  She  had  believed  in  his  honesty  as  she 
believed  in  her  own.  Even  now,  she  would 
rather  credit  a  miracle  than  his  unfaithfulness. 

**  Have  you  seen  it?"  she  exclaimed,  ad- 
dressing Sal  impetuously.  ''  It  was  here  last 
night    when    I    went    to    sleep !      My    black 

satchel ! — oh  !  if  it  is  lost  !  " 

Sal  replied  with  a  look  of  placid  and  gentle 

interrogation.     Evidently  she    did    not    know 

what  Sophie  was  talking  about. 


JOHN  PA  KM  ELBE '  S  CURSE.  1 93 

"Did  you  see  Bob  go  out?"  the  latter  con- 
tinued, with  passionate  urgency.  ''  He  wouldn't 
do  any  thing  wrong,  would  he  ?  Where  is  he  ? 
Oh,  I  must  see  him  !  I  must  ask  him  !  Where 
can  I  find  him?  "  she  continued,  squeezing  one 
of  her  little  hands  with  the  other,  while  her 
voice  broke.  *' I  must  find  my  satchel!  My 
papa  would  not  be  glad  to  see  me  if  I  had  lost 
what  he  told  me  to  take  care  of !  " 

"  Is  your  father  unkind  to  you  ?  "  the  woman 
asked,  in  a  compassionate  tone.  ""  If  he  were 
like  what  my  husband  was,  he  would  not  be 
unkind.  Somehow,  dear,  you  make  me  think 
of  him.  Our  little  baby  might  have  grown  to 
be  a  child  like  you." 

"He  is  the  kindest  and  best  papa  that  ever 
lived  !  "  cried  Sophie,  breaking  into  sobs. 
"I'm  afraid  something  terrible  has  happened 
to  him  !  And  I  have  no  one  but  him  !  Mamma 
has  never  come  back  since  Iwas  five  years  old  !  " 

Crazy  Sal,  with  an  impulse  of  tenderness 
whose  force  she  herself  could  not  understand, 
drew  the  child  to  her  and  embraced  her,  and 
her  gray  hair  fell  forward,  and  mingled  with 
Sophie's  wavy  mane  of  black. 


1 94  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

**  Let  me  be  a  mother  to  you,  for  a  little 
while,"  she  said.  ''  We  have  each  lost  what 
was  dearest  to  us.  I  shall  never  find  mine 
again  ;  but  come  with  me  ;  for  you  are  a  little 
girl,  and  God  will  give  your  dearest  back  to  you 
again." 

So  the  mother  and  daughter — mother  and 
daughter  indeed,  little  as  they  suspected  it — 
went  out  together  to  find  what  had  been  pro- 
vided for  them. 


XIX. 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Fred  Tyrrel, 
on  the  night  of  the  discovery  of  the  Tis- 
dale  Bank  robbery,  had  disagreed  with  the  con- 
clusions of  the  other  directors,  and  had  formed 
a  theory  of  his  own  as  to  the  probable  truth  of 
the  matter.  Though  he  had  not  hit  upon  the 
actual  truth,  he  had  at  all  events  discredited 
Parmelee's  guilt. 

He  was  still  quite  a  young  man,  not  more 
than  thirty  years  of  age.  His  family  was  of 
old  New  England  stock,  having  emigrated  from 
England  during  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  His  grandfather  had  been  an  East 
India  merchant  and  ship  owner,  and  had 
amassed  a  large  fortune  in  trade.  His  father 
was  a  man  of  statesmanlike  instincts,  and  early 
took  an  interest  in  the  affairs  of  government ; 
after  having  been  elected  twice  or  thrice  to  the 
legislature  he  had  finally  been  made  governor 
of  his  state.     Fred  had  received,  at  school  and 


196  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

at  college,  the  best  education  that  America 
affords  her  sons,  and  after  graduating  he  em- 
barked for  the  Old  World  and  spent  two  or 
three  years  in  travel.  He  had  introductions  to 
the  best  people  in  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  and 
Petersburg,  and  he  took  advantage  of  the  facili- 
ties thus  afforded  him  to  become  familiar  with 
the  forms  and  workings  of  the  governments  of 
the  various  countries.  On  his  return  home  he 
had  applied  his  knowledge  to  the  examination 
of  the  political,  economic  and  social  problems 
of  his  own  native  land,  and  had  embodied  some 
of  his  conclusions  in  articles  in  some  of  the 
leading  reviews  and  magazines,  thereby  acquir- 
ing considerable  reputation  as  an  intelligent 
and  dispassionate  reasoner  and  critic. 

At  this  period,  he  contemplated  an  imme- 
diate entrance  into  public  life.  But  a  personal 
experience  of  the  character  and  methods  of 
some  of  the  political  leaders  and  their  hangers- 
on,  had  the  effect  of  so  disenchanting  his  ambi- 
tion as  to  make  him  relinquish,  for  the  present, 
an  idea  of  putting'his  theories  into  execution  ; 
and  when  the  position  of  director  of  the  local 
bank  was  proffered  him,  he  accepted  it,  partly 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  197 

from  a  desire  to  identify  himself  with  the  inter- 
ests of  the  town  in  which  he  lived,  and  partly 
in  order  to  gain  a  practical  working  knowledge 
of  the  inner  routine  and  management  of  such 
institutions.  This  connection  had  led  to  his 
forming  the  acquaintance  of  John  Parmelee, 
the  cashier. 

At  the  time  of  the  latter's  marriage,  Tyrrel 
was  a  boy  at  school,  and  he  was  in  college  when 
the  calamity  occurred  which  culminated  in  the 
disappearance  of  Mrs.  Parmelee.  He  had, 
however,  seen  her  and  had  been  impressed  by 
her  remarkable  beauty,  and  when  he  returned 
from  his  travels,  he  formed  a  strong  and  sym- 
pathetic friendship  with  the  husband,  and  con- 
ceived a  particular  affection  for  little  Sophie. 
The  reserve  and  oddity  of  the  child,  which  re- 
pelled or  perplexed  others,  was  for  him  a  charm 
and  a  recommendation;  he  fancied  he  could 
discover  in  her  nature  the  germs  of  a  lovely  and 
rich  womanhood.  Sophie,  for  her  part,  loved 
and  trusted  him  from  the  first  ;  he  was,  in  her 
imagination,  an  incarnation  of  all  that  was 
strong,  wise,  and  kindly. 

During  the  past  two  years  or  more,  Tyrrel 


198  JOHN  PAKMELEE'S  CURSE. 

had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  Parmelee's  house. 
Without  making  his  generosity  so  obtrusive  as 
to  risk  wounding  the  cashier's  pride,  he  had 
nevertheless  contrived  to  assist  and  encourage 
him  in  many  ways.  But  sympathy  has  keen 
eyes,  and  Tyrrel  had  latterly  begun  to  enter- 
tain something  more  than  a  suspicion  that  his 
unfortunate  friend  was  walking  in  the  same  path 
that  his  wife  had  traveled  before  him.  A  feel- 
ing of  delicacy  prevented  him  from  attempting 
to.  solve  the  doubt  by  direct  interrogation,  or 
even  from  making  a  secret  investigation  into  a 
matter  which  Parmelee  wished  to  conceal ;  but 
the  situation  caused  him  anxiety — more  on  the 
cashier's  account  than  on  that  of  the  bank — 
and  he  often  took  counsel  with  himself  as  to 
what  was  best  to  be  done.  Parmelee,  like  all 
opium-eaters,  however  tractable  and  reasonable 
on  other  subjects,  would  probably  fail  to  re- 
spond satisfactorily  to  any  remonstrances,  how- 
ever kindly  or  firmly  delivered  ;  so  he  finally 
contented  himself  with  resolving  to  step  in, 
whenever  the  crisis  should  arrive  and  protect 
his  friend  from  the  worst  results  of  his  vice. 
His  solicitude  for  Sophie  was  perhaps  more  ten- 


JOHX  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  199 

der  than  for  her  father.  Sophie,  at  all  events, 
should  never,  if  he  could  prevent  it,  suffer  from 
the  consequences  of  the  unhappy  weakness  of 
her  parents. 

On  the  night  of  the  cashier's  mysterious  dis- 
appearance, Tyrrel,  while  looking  about  the 
room,  had  found  on  the  sofa  the  small  metal 
box  in  which  the  unfortunate  man  kept  his  sup- 
ply of  opium.  Parmelee  had  always  taken 
especial  pains  to  keep  this  box  where  no  one 
could  find  it  ;  but  the  excess  of  his  delirium 
had  prevented  him,  on  this  last  occasion,  from 
concealing  it  in  its  usual  place.  Its  discovery 
had  convinced  Tyrrel  of  the  correctness  of  his 
surmises.  On  the  part  of  an  opium-eater,  any 
insane  extravagance  or  escapade  is  possible ; 
and  it  was  easy  to  conceive  that  John  might 
have  wandered  away  in  an  unconscious  or  irre- 
sponsible state  of  mind.  It  was  not  so  clear, 
however,  why  Sophie  had  accompanied  him  ; 
still  less  could  Tyrrel  understand  how  the  safe 
could  have  been  attacked  on  that  particular 
night  of  all  others.  It  was  not  to  be  supposed 
that  the  thieves,  whoever  they  were,  could  have 
been  able  to  foretell  the  exact  moment  when  the 


200  JOHN  PA  R  ME  LEE  *  S  CURSE. 

cashier's  mind  would  give  way,  and  leave  him 
impotent  to  protect  his  trust ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  idea  of  any  collusion  between 
him  and  them  was  inadmissible.  It  was  possi- 
ble perhaps,  that  John  might  have  been  kid- 
napped, as  a  means  of  covering  the  burglar's 
traces  ;  but  that  Sophie  also  should  have  been 
spirited  away,  without  leaving  any  traces,  was 
scarcely  credible. 

Turn  the  matter  which  way  he  would,  it  re- 
mained more  or  less  a  puzzle  to  Tyrrel.  But, 
whatever  the  solution  might  prove  to  be,  he 
stood  firm  in  his  conviction  that  it  would  estab- 
lish Parmelee's  innocence  of  all  criminal  action 
or  intent. 

His  aim  therefore,  was,  first  to  trace  him  and 
vindicate  him  from  the  charge,  and  secondly — 
either  through  his  means,  or  independently — 
to  bring  home  the  crime  to  the  really  guilty 
parties.  And  herein  he  had  the  other  direct- 
ors at  a  disadvantage.  For  while  they  would 
naturally  proceed  on  the  supposition  that  Par- 
melee,  as  a  criminal,  would  either  seek  to  put 
himself  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the  United 
States,  or,  if   still    in    this    country,   would  be 


JOHN  PA R MELEE 'S  CURSE.  2 o  1 

found  in  the  meeting-places  of  other  malefac- 
tors, Tyrrel,  in  accordance  with  his  theory  of  the 
man's  delirium,  wasted  no  time  in  such  wild- 
goose  chases,  but  prosecuted  his  search  in 
places  otherwise  the  most  improbable. 

He  en^afjed  the  services  of  several  detectives, 
and,  after  explaining  to  them  his  views  of  the 
matter,  dispatched  them  in  various  directions. 
The  adjacent  country,  within  a  radius  of  fifty 
miles,  was  carefully  gone  over  ;  and  particular 
inquiries  were  made  for  a  little  girl  with  black 
hair  and  eyes ;  for  Tyrrel  had  reflected  that  she 
was  more  likely  than  her  father  to  attract  the 
notice  of  uninterested  people. 

The  whole  of  Thursday  was  consumed  in  this 
way,  but  without  any  satisfactory  result.  No 
one  had  seen  such  a  child  as  w^as  described. 
On  the  other  hand,  several  more  had  been 
noticed,  who  answered  more  or  less  closely  to 
the  description  of  John  Parmelee ;  but  when 
those  clews  were  followed  up,  none  of  them 
proved  to  be  correct.  Tyrrel's  first  effort  had 
been  a  failure. 

Hitherto,  he  had  not  believed  that  Parmelee 
would  be  likely  to  go  to  New  York  ;  he  would 


202  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

rather  wander  vaguely  about,  and  probably  not 
get  far  away  from  his  starting  point.  It  now 
became  necessary,  however,  to  continue  the 
search  in  the  city.  One  of  the  detectives  took 
the  midnight  train  down  on  Thursday,  and,  in 
the  course  of  a  chance  conversation  with  the 
conductor,  elicited  the  fact  that  a  dark-haired 
and  dark-eyed  girl,  apparently  about  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  large 
black  satchel,  had  traveled  to  New  York,  alone, 
on  the  same  train  the  night  before.  The  con- 
ductor added  that  she  seemed  to  be  in  an  anx- 
ious frame  of  mind,  and  that  she  had  not  pro- 
vided herself  with  a  ticket. 

The  detective  wired  back  this  news  to 
Tyrrel,  from  the  next  station  ;  but  Tyrrel  did 
not  receive  it  until  the  next  (Friday)  morning, 
at  breakfast.  It  surprised,  perplexed,  and  did 
not  altogether  please  him.  To  tell  the  truth, 
it  tended  to  place  Parmelee  in  a  somewhat 
unfavorable  light.  It  now  looked  as  if  he  must 
have  directed  Sophie's  flight,  and  either  have 
been  with  her  on  the  train,  though  perhaps  in 
another  car,  or  else  have  arranged  to  meet  her 
in  New  York  at  some  designated  rendezvous. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  203 

The  black  satchel  was  another  source  of  disquiet- 
itude  to  Tyrrel.     What  could  it  have  contained? 

He  took  the  next  train  to  New  York,  feeling 
seriously  worried.  At  the  Grand  Central 
depot  he  was  met  by  his  detective,  who  had  in 
the  meanwhile  obtained  further  news.  He  had 
traced  Sophie  to  her  lodging  at  the  house  of 
the  friendly  railway  porter ;  he  had  conversed 
with  the  latter's  wife,  and  had  gathered  from 
her  that  the  child  seemed  to  be  in  search  of  her 
father.  Less  than  an  hour  before  the  detec- 
tive's arrival,  Sophie  had  left  her  entertainer 
for  the  second  time,  satchel  and  all,  and  from 
this  point  all  trace  of  her  had  been  lost. 

The  inference  from  this  news  seemed  to  be 
that  Parmelee  had  not  been  privy  to  his  daugh- 
ter's journey,  and  Tyrrel's  misgivings  were  in  so 
far  relieved  ;  for,  even  had  the  cashier  been 
wicked  enough  to  steal  from  the  bank,  he 
would  not  have  deliberately  abandoned  Sophie 
in  New  York.  According  to  present  appear- 
ances, the  indications  again  pointed  to  the 
theorj^of  Parmelee's  insanity  as  the  correct  one. 

The  remaining  difficulties  were,  however,  as 
far  as  ever  from  being  overcome.     To  begin 


204  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

with,  although  Sophie  was  unquestionably  in 
New  York,  it  by  no  means  seemed  to  follow 
that  her  father  was  there.  The  child  might,  or 
she  might  not,  have  had  reason  to  believe  that 
he  had  gone  thither;  and  it  was  evident,  at  any 
rate,  that  she  did  not  know  his  address.  The 
task  of  finding  a  person  in  a  great  city  like  New 
York  is  enough  to  try  the  abilities  even  of  a 
trained  investigator  ;  but  for  a  little  girl  like 
Sophie,  who  had  never  before  been  outside  of 
her  native  village,  the  odds  against  success  were 
incalculable.  And,  meanwhile,  she  was  in  con- 
stant danger. 

Tyrrel  once  more  called  all  his  detectives 
together,  and  set  them  to  work  afresh.  Of  the 
men  employed  by  the  other  directors,  two  were 
at  this  time  in  Montreal,  two  in  Boston,  two 
following  supposed  clews  westward  and  south- 
ward ;  and  one  was  in  New  York.  Up  to  Friday 
evening,  however,  no  member  of  either  party 
had  discovered  any  thing  worth  reporting,  be- 
yond what  has  been  above  worded.  The  political 
turmoil  made  every  thing  exceptionally  difficult. 

Late  on  Friday  night,  Tyrrel  himself  chanced 
upon  some  information  that  seemed  valuable. 


XX. 

WHILE  lunching  at  Delmonlco's,  near  Wall 
street,  he  had  encountered  a  friend,  who 
invited  him  to  a  late  dinner  at  his  house  that 
evening  ;  remarking  that  there  would  be  several 
persons  there  whom  Tyrrel  might  like  to  meet. 
Tyrrel  accepted  conditionally  upon  the  pres- 
sure of  other  affairs  ;  and  in  the  evening,  as 
there  were  no  fresh  developments  from  his 
detectives,  he  left  word  at  his  hotel  where  he 
might  be  found  and  took  the  Elevated  railroad 
up  town. 

On  entering  the  room  where  his  host,  with 
the  other  guests  was  awaiting  him,  Tyrrel  saw 
a  face  which  he  thought  he  recognized  ;  and 
this  impression  was  confirmed  when  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  the  face  belonged  came  forward, 
and  recalled  himself  to  his  recollection.  ''  Don't 
you  remember  Frank  Sherman?"  he  said. 
"  You  and  I  were  in  college  together,  twelve 
years  ago." 


2o6  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

**  Certainly  I  do  !  "  returned  Tyrrel,  shaking 
hands  with  him  cordially;  **  and  Avhere  have 
you  been  since?"- 

At  the  dinner-table  they  were  assigned  places 
beside  each  other,  and  were  very  well  enter- 
tained in  giving  each  other  an  account  of  their 
experiences  since  their  last  meeting,  and  in 
recalling  the  adventures  and  episodes  of  their 
college  life.  But  Sherman,  who  was  full  of 
Mexico,  could  not  help  constantly  bringing  it 
into  his  discourse.  Finally  Tyrrel  said  with  a 
laugh  :  **  You  must  be  related  by  some  ancestral 
connection  with  the  Aztecs  or  the  Monte- 
zumas." 

"  I  feel  more  like  a  discoverer  than  a  native," 
Sherman  answered,  ''  and  I  am  hospitably 
anxious  to  make  all  the  good  fellows  partakers 
of  my  good  fortune.  By  the  way,  I  succeeded 
in  capturing  one  only  yesterday,  and  I  have 
mortgaged  him  soul  ,and  body  to  the  cause. 
He  is  going  back  with  me  next  Monday.  He 
is  the  sort  of  man  that  is  wanted  down  there, 
and  I  expect  great  things  of  him." 

*'  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?"  Tyrrel  inquired. 
*'  The  type  of  Walker  of  Nicaragua?" 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  207 

**  Well,  Walker,  before  his  first  opportunity- 
came,  may  not  have  been  so  promising  a  per- 
sonage as  my  new  recruit.  When  I  was  living 
here  a  few  years  ago,  I  used  to  see  a  good  deal 
of  him.  He  was  a  polished,  clever,  self-contain- 
ed fellow,  without  any  apparent  purpose  or  in- 
terest in  life  ;  one  felt  he  was  throwing  himself 
away  ;  he  was  doing  no  good,  to  himself  or  any 
body  else ;  and  might  be  doing  some  harm. 
There  are  too  many  such  men  in  New  York, 
with  money  but  with  no  occupation  ;  they  are 
out  of  place,  and  they  know  it ;  and  the  more 
they  know  it,  the  further  astray  they  go.  But 
give  them  a  new  country  to  develop,  and  they 
would  surprise  you  !  I  speak  as  one  having 
authority,  for  I  used  to  belong  to  the  gang  my- 
self. Well,  I  ran  across  this  fellow  yesterday, 
and  put  the  case  to  him  in  such  a  way,  that  he 
has  agreed  to  stand  by  me,  and  be  my  right 
hand  man." 

**  Is  it  any  one  I  know  ? "  asked  Tyrrel. 
"What  is  his  name? — if  the  question  is  dis- 
creet." 

"  By  the  way,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  you 
did  know  him,"  exclaimed  Sherman.     "  J  hav^ 


2o8  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

an  impression  that  he  used  to  live  up  your  way 
at  one  time.     His   name  is  Harold  Blackmer." 

"Harold  Blackmer!"  Tyrrel  repeated  the 
name  with  a  sense  of  disagreeable  surprise,  some 
reflection  of  which  found  its  way  into  his  voice. 
Sherman  noticed  it. 

''  You  do  know  him,  then  ?  "  he  said.  "  Isn't 
he  a  friend  of  yours?  Have  you  got  any  thing 
against  him  ?  Of  course,  I  never  took  him  for 
a  saint  ;  and  saints  arn't  just  what  we  need  in 
Mexico." 

*'  I  have  had  very  little  personal  knowledge 
of  him,"  Tyrrel  replied,  rather  reluctantly. 
In  fact,  he  was  a  good  deal  perplexed  what  to 
say.  He  had  heard  enough  about  Harold  to 
lead  him  to  believe  that  he  was  a  thoroughly 
dangerous  character;  and  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was  perhaps  bound  in  conscience  to  tell 
Sherman — who  was  manifestly  ignorant  on  the 
subject — what  he  knew.  But  he  hesitated  for  a 
paradoxical  reason,  characteristic  of  conscien- 
tious persons.  The  truth  was,  he  had  begun 
to  suspect,  upon  grounds  partly  explicit  and 
partly  inferential,  that  Blackmer  might  be  con- 
cerned more  or  less  directly  in  theTisdale  Bank 


JOH.V  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  209 

robbery.  But,  as  this  suspicion  had  not  yet 
been  verified,  he  did  not  feel  justified  in  allud- 
ing to  it  ;  while  at  the  same  time  he  felt  himself 
to  be  so  much  influenced  by  it  in  his  judgment 
of  Blackmer,  as  to  cause  him  to  fear  lest  any 
opinion  he  might  pass  upon  him  would  be  pre- 
judicial. Thus  he  was  unwilling  to  speak;  and 
yet  he  felt  that  he  would  be  unfaithful  to  the 
cause  of  honest  dealing  if  he  allowed  Sherman 
to  be  hoodwinked  by  a  rascal. 

"  Does  his  position  with  you  involve  any  large 
responsibilities?  he  inquired.  ''Do  you  allow 
him  the  control  of  any  considerable  pecuniary 
interests,  for  example?" 

"  Come  !  "  said  Sherman,  good  humoredly, 
"  I  know  you're  keeping  something  back. 
Never  mind;  it  won't  destroy  my  faith  in  human 
nature!     What  is  it?" 

"  Well,"  returned  Tyrrel,  reddening  a  little,  ''  I 
will  say  this  :  If  I  were  you,  I  would  make  his 
acquaintance  thoroughly  before  I  trusted  him 
too  much.  He  has  not  led  a  very  reputable  life 
these  last  few  years.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
he  intends  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  certain- 
ly I  don't  want  to  stand  in  the  way  of  it.     But 


2IO  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

experience  only  can  prove  how  that  will  be,  and 
of  course  I   shouldn't  like  to  have   all  the  ex- 
perience   on  your    side,    and  all    the     . 
advantage  on  his  !  " 

Sherman  thanked  him,  and  promised  to  be 
on  his  guard  ;  and  then  the  subject  was  dropped. 

Meanwhile,  the  conversation  among  the 
guests  turned  chiefly  on  the  coming  election  ; 
various  guesses  as  to  the  probable  issue  were 
made,  and  one  after  another  gave  the  grounds 
for  his  opinion,  or  told  stories  bearing  on  the 
campaign.  By  and  by,  the  great  meeting  of 
that  evening  in  Union  Square  was  referred  to  ; 
and  then  Sherman  contributed  an  anecdote  of 
his  own : 

"  I  was  at  that  meeting  myself,"  he  said  ;  "in 
fact,  I  came  almost  directly,  from  there,  here. 
It  was  a  pretty  lively  affair,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and 
one  incident  particularly  so.  As  I  was  on  the 
platform,  where  the  thing  occurred,  I  can  prob- 
ably give  as  accurate  an  account  of  it  as  you 
will  be  likely  to  find  in  the  papers  to-morrow 
morning.  A  number  of  gentlemen — distin- 
guished I  presume — had  been  making  speeches, 
and  every  thing  was  going  on  comfortably,  when 


JOHN  PARMELEE ' S  CURSE.  2 1 1 

all  at  once  there  was  some  sort  of  a  row  down 
in  the  crowd,  and  a  lot  of  them  seemed  to  be 
making  a  rush  for  the  platform.  At  first  I 
thought  we  were  in  for  a  scrimmage,  and  was 
debating  which  way  I  should  jump;  but  it 
turned  out  that  they  had  got  hold  of  a  man, 
and  wanted  to  put  him  up  among  us  to  deliver 
a  harangue.  The  first  thing  we  knew,  he  was 
among  us ;  and  a  queer  looking  customer  he 
was  !  He  had  no  hat,  and  his  garments  were 
as  if  he  had  come  through  a  thick  set  hedge, 
with  a  ditch  on  the  other  side  of  it.  He  had 
gray  hair,  and  big  dark  eyes,  with  a  singular 
stare  in  them,  as  if  he  were  looking  at  a  ghost, 
and  saw  nothing  else.  I  thought  he  was  prob- 
ably an  anarchist, and  had  had  too  much  beer; 
but  he  was  not  under  the  influence  of  liquor, 
though  he  was  certainly  wrong  in  the  head 
from  some  cause  ;  it  may  have  been  opium,  or 
it  may  have  been  mere  insanity." 

At  the  mention  of  opium,  Fred  Tyrrel  pricked 
up  his  ears,  and  seemed  to  take  an  extraordi- 
nary interest  in  the  story. 

''Well,  he  started  to  make  his  speech,"  Sher- 
man went  on,  **  and  a  very  odd  speech  it  was. 


S 1 2  JOHN  PA  RMELEE ' S  CURSE. 

At  first,  no  one  could  tell  what  he  was  driving 
at ;  he  talked  on  in  a  rambling  way,  apparently- 
confining  himself  to  glittering  generalities;  and 
the  crowd  applauded  as  if  he  had  been  Daniel 
Webster  himself.  But  after  a  while,  it  turned 
out  that  he  was  enlarging  upon  his  own  domes- 
tic affairs,  which  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  badly 
mixed  condition  ;  and  he  wound  up  with  an 
attempt  to  sing  a  song,  about  June  and  noon, 
mine  and  thine,  lovers  and  kisses,  until  the 
crowed  yelled  so  loud  and  assumed  such  a 
threatening  aspect,  that  the  platform  gentle- 
men took  the  alarm,  and  kicked  the  poor  orator 
down  the  steps.  I  was  really  very  sorry  for  the 
man,  and  would  have  helped  him  if  I  could  ; 
but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  ;  and  before  I 
could  offer  any  remonstrance,  he  had  disap- 
peared in  the  crowd." 

"  Did  you  find  out  what  his  name  was  ?  " 
Tyrrel  demanded,  with  restrained  eagerness. 

*'  Nobody  knew  it  or  had  ever  seen  him 
before,"  Sherman  replied.  *'  The  prevailing 
idea  was  that  he  had  escaped  from  Ward's 
Island,  or  that  his  reason  had  been  dethroned 
by  the  excitement  of  the  election." 


JOHN  PA  R  ME  LEE '  S  CURSE.  2 1 3 

But  Tyrrel  entertained  a  different  opinion. 
The  song  which  Sherman  had  mentioned  was 
one  which  he  himself  had  heard  John  Parmelee 
sing ;  and  the  description  of  the  unknown 
man's  appearance  and  demeanor  had  tallied 
closely  enough  with  those  of  the  lost  cashier. 
The  longer  he  reflected  upon  it  the  more  con- 
vinced did  he  become  that  his  surmise  w'as 
correct  ;  and  at  length  he  felt  constrained  to 
excuse  himself  to  his  host,  on  the  plea  of 
business,  and  to  take  his  leave.  Sherman,  in 
bidding  him  good-night,  promised  to  let  him 
know  if  any  thing  untoward  occurred  with 
reference  to  Harold  Blackmer. 

Tyrrel  hastened  dow^n  to  his  hotel — the  Astor 
House — summoned  his  detectives,  and  com- 
municated to  them  the  clue  which  he  believed 
himself  to  have  found.  They  were  by  this 
time  somewhat  w^earied  of  the  undertaking,  and 
did  not  exhibit  any  marked  enthusiasm  at  the 
new  turn  of  affairs.  The  identification  was 
inconclusive,  to  say  the  best  of  it;  it  might 
have  been  any  one  of  a  thousand  men  as  well 
as  John  Parmelee.  But  Tyrrel  was  sanguine 
and  peremptory,  and  would  listen  to  no    dis- 


2l4  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURS&, 

couragement.  He  was  convinced  that  they 
were  close  upon  the  goal  of  their  endeavors. 
He  dispatched  his  men  accordingl)^  and  then 
retired  to  his  room  for  some  rest,  having  told 
the  night  clerk  that  any  messenger  asking  for 
him  was  to  be  taken  up  stairs  at  once.  But  the 
night  passed  away,  and  his  sleep  was  not  dis- 
turbed. He  arose  early  on  Saturday  morning, 
and  rang  for  his  breakfast  and  a  newspaper. 
He  turned  to  the  account  of  the  Union  Square 
meeting,  but  it  contained  nothing  that  would 
assist  him  in  identifying  the  unknown  intruder 
as  John  Parmelee.  He  ate  his  breakfast, 
smoked  a  cigar,  and  finally,  tired  of  waiting, 
put  on  his  hat  and  went  down  stairs.  It  was 
half-past  ten  when  he  emerged  upon  the  side- 
walk and  turned  northward  for  a  stroll. 

He  had  not  gone  a  score  of  yards  when  he 
saw  an  elderly  woman  and  a  little  girl,  who  had 
been  walking  in  front  of  him,  start  to  cross 
Broadway  in  the  direction  of  the  City  Hall. 
Just  then  an  express  wagon,  driven  at  head- 
long speed,  bore  down  upon  them.  The  little 
girl  sprang  forward  to  escape  it ;  but  her  com- 
panion, who  held  her  by  the  arm,  drew  back  at 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  2 1 5 

the  same  moment  :  so  there  they  hung  in  the 
direct  path  of  sudden  death. 

But  Tyrrel  had  attended  the  gymnasium 
when  he  was  at  college,  and  he  was  still  an 
athletic  man,  as  well  as  a  courageous  one.  In 
an  instant  he  had  thrown  himself  before  the 
advancing  wagon  and  caught  the  horse  by  the 
bridle.  The  impetus  of  the  latter  carried  Tyrrel 
off  his  feet  ;  but  he  kept  his  grasp  upon  the 
reins,  and  avoided  the  animal's  hoofs  ;  and  after 
being  dragged  a  couple  of  paces,  the  vehicle 
was  stopped.  It  was  a  close  shave,  but  it  was 
enough.  Tyrrel  informed  the  driver  of  the 
wagon  that  he  should  hear  from  him  later, 
and  then  turned  to  the  woman  and  child,  and 
led  them  back  to  the  sidewalk  in  safety.  The 
crowd  which  had  begun  to  collect,  finding  that 
nobody  was  killed,  or  even  hurt,  dispersed 
about  its  business. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  Tyrrel  looked  at 
the  faces  of  the  persons  whom  he  had  rescued  ; 
and  great  was  his  astonishment  to  find  the 
black  eyes  of  little  Sophie  Parmelee  gazing 
solemnly  up  into  his  own.  He  caught  her  up 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.     Then  he  scrutinized 


2i6  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

the  woman — at  first  with  no  friendly  glance, 
for  he  suspected  both  her  character  and  her 
intentions. 

But  after  a  moment  his  expression  changed; 
neither  the  gray  hair,  nor  the  wasted  features, 
nor  the  shabby  dress,  nor  the  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  he  saw  her  last,  sufficed  to  dis- 
guise from  him  the  truth  that  this  was  Sophie's 
mother.  She  did  not  recognize  him  ;  but  that, 
perhaps,  would  come  in  time.  He  spoke  to 
her  quietly  and  respectfully ;  and  when  he 
invited  her  to  return  with  him  to  the  hotel  she 
complied  without  hesitation. 


XXI. 

WHEN  Blackmer  and  his  companions, late 
on  Friday  night,  left  John  Parmelee, 
bound  and  gagged  to  think  over  the  proposi- 
tion they  had  made  to  him  regarding  the  money 
taken  from  the  safe,  and  to  choose  between  ac- 
ceding to  that  and  death — the  cashier  was  per- 
haps warranted  in  beUeving  that  the  darkest 
hour  of  his  Hfe  had  come. 

He  had  no  exact  knowledge  where  he  was. 
After  leaving  Union  Square,  he  had  been  hur- 
ried into  a  cab,  which  had  been  driven  rapidly 
down  Fourteenth  street  for  a  couple  of  blocks, 
and  then  turned  to  the  left.  He  was,  at  that 
time,  still  partially  dazed  by  the  effects  of  his 
fall  from  the  platform  ;  and  the  last  traces  of 
the  opium  influence  yet  lingered  in  his  brain. 

He  could  perceive,  however,  that  they  were 
passing  through  some  of  the  poorest  regions  of 
the  city,  between  lower  Broadway  and  the  North 
River.     Several  turns  were  made,  and  at  last 


2 1 8  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  C  URSE. 

the  cab  stopped  before  a  mean-looking  house 
in  a  dark  and  narrow  street. 

It  was  such  a  locality  as  the  police  seldom 
visit  ;  on  the  ground,  probably,  that  the  dregs 
of  the  population  must  live  somewhere,  and 
that  they  had  better  be  as  little  disturbed  as 
possible  in  their  chosen  haunts.  Nothing  short 
of  a  great  fire  could  cleanse  these  Augean  Sta- 
bles of  New  York,  and  even  that  would  not 
exterminate  crime. 

Parmelee,  at  all  events,  entertained  no  hopes 
of  a  rescue ;  still  less  was  he  able  to  help  him- 
self. Mike,  who  had  bound  him,  had  been  a 
sailor  the  better  part  of  his  life,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  compact  and  ship-shape  than  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  done  the  job. 

So  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  the  cash- 
ier could  perhaps  have  confronted  death  with 
reasonable  equanimity.  Existence,  of  late, 
had  not  been  a  pleasure  to  him.  His  health 
was  undermined,  and  he  was  full  of  anxieties 
both  for  the  present  and  the  future.  To  be  at 
once  and  forever  released  from  it  all  would  not 
have  been  unwelcome. 

It  was  when  he  thought  of  his  little  daughter 


JOHN-  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  2 1 9 

that  his  courage  gave  way.  How  could  he 
endure  to  leave  her  to  the  ruin  and  misery  and 
shame  of  the  world  ?  She  was  too  young  to 
make  any  stand  for  herself ;  she  was  old  enough 
to  be  ruined.  His  wife,  too,  whom  he  had 
hoped  at  last  to  save — who  would  save  her 
now? 

There  he  sat,  cramped,  stifled  and  helpless, 
waiting  for  the  end.  Every  instant,  amidst  the 
ceaseless  procession  of  thoughts,  fears  and  fan- 
tasies that  swept  though  his  tortured  brain,  he 
listened  with  preternatural  acuteness  for  the 
sound  of  the  returning  footsteps  of  the  men  in 
whose  hands  his  fate  was  placed  ;  and  for  the 
moment  when  he  should  be  finally  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  terrible  alternative. 

Then,  too,  he  had  to  endure  the  agony  of 
that  remorse  which  comes  too  late,  for  the 
degradation  of  mind  and  body  into  which  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  sink.  It  was  opium 
that  brought  him  here  ;  it  was  through  opium 
that  Sophie  was  left  defenseless  among 
enemies;  and  it  was  opium  which  would,  per- 
haps, in  the  supreme  crisis  of  temptation,  rob 
him   of    moral   integrity  to   take   the    nobler 


2  20  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

course  and  sacrifice  what  was  dear  to  what  was 
honorable. 

It  was  an  old  and  well-worn  lesson  that  he 
was  learning,  but  one  which  no  one,  perhaps, 
has  ever  learnt  vicariously — the  beautiful,  fatal 
lesson  of  human  brotherhood,  that  the  effect 
of  no  evil,  as  well  as  of  no  good,  can  be 
restricted  to  the  good  or  evil-doer. 

If  only  this  cup  might  pass  from  him,  he 
thought,  he  would  thenceforward  lead  a  better 
and  cleaner  life.  But  the  curse  with  which  he 
had  dallied  so  long  had  fastened  its  grip  upon 
him,  and  there  was  nothing  to  hope  and  every 
thing  to  fear. 

Hark  !     What  noise  was  that  ? 

A  quiver  passed  through  John  Parmelee's 
body,  and  he  clenched  his  teeth  and  his  hands. 
The  time  was  come !  An  hour  hence — where 
would  he  be  ? 

The  blood,  which  had  rushed  to  Parmelee's 
brain  at  the  first  shock,  receded  and  settled 
heavily  about  his  heart.  Tlie  coolness  of  despair 
was  taking  the  place  of  the  fever  of  suspense. 
He  could  not  suffer  much  more,  or  much  longer. 
Why  did  they  not  come  ?     Hark  !  again. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  221 

It  was  the  same  noise  as  before  ;  but  the 
prisoner  now  noticed  that  it  did  not  seem  to 
come  from  the  direction  of  the  staircase,  nor 
was  it  such  a  noise  as  is  made  by  opening  doors 
or  ascending  footsteps.  It  was  a  faint  ratthng 
or  dragging  sound,  and  it  proceeded  from  out- 
side the  house,  on  the  side  of  the  window. 

What  were  they  going  to  do  ?  Were  they 
preparing  some  trap  for  him  ? — some  species 
of  torture?  The  noise  continued,  and  some- 
thing came  in  contact  with  the  window-pane. 
It  sounded  like  a  rope,  dangling  and  swinging 
downward  from  above.  Were  they  going  to 
hang  him  out  of  the  window,  and  let  it  be  infer- 
red that  he  had  committed  suicide  ? 

Parmelee  was  secured  with  his  back  to  the 
window^  and  could  not  turn  his  head  far  enough 
to  see  behind  him  ;  moreover,  the  window  was 
concealed  by  a  heavy  curtain.  He  could  only 
conjecture,  therefore,  what  was  going  on.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  that  the  sounds  might 
originate  from  some  source  other  than  the 
Blackmer  gang.  His  anticipations  were  so 
strongly  warped  toward  disaster  that  he  could 
not  adjust  himself  to  any  other  issue. 


22  2  JOHN  PARMELEES  CURSE. 

Something  scraped  and  thumped  against  the 
wall  outside.  There  was  a  scramble  upon  the 
window-sill,  and,  after  a  moment,  a  crash  of 
breaking  glass.  The  window-bolt  was  turned 
back,  and  the  sash  thrown  up.  Next  came  the 
impact  of  two  bare  feet  on  the  floor  of  the  room. 

At  this  point,  Parmelee's  self-control  gave 
way,  and  he  uttered  a  scream.  The  imagina- 
tion of  evil  is  always  more  trying  than  the 
worst  reality.  Perhaps,  however,  it  was  the 
dawning  of  a  hope  that  this  mysterious  visita- 
tion boded  him  good,  and  not  evil,  that  over- 
came the  man's  stoicism.  Such  a  revulsion 
might  have  upset  a  stronger  nature  than  his. 

Meanwhile,  the  mystery,  after  the  fashion  of 
most  mysteries,  promptly  resolved  itself  into 
something  extremely  concrete  and  matter-of- 
fact — a  homely  little  urchin,  with  red  hair  and 
a  freckled  visage,  and  scantily  attired  in  very 
dilapidated  clothes.  But  no  cherub  from  the 
Seventh  Heaven,  clad  in  rainbows  and  crowned 
with  sunbeams,  could  have  seemed  more 
lovely  and  welcome  to  John  Parmelee  at  that 
juncture. 

"  Tell  yer  what,  boss,"  remarked  this  visitant, 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  223 

deftly  removing  the  gag  from  the  prisoner's 
mouth,  and  cutting  the  ropes  that  bound  him 
with  a  knife  which  he  took  from  the  table, 
"  dat's  der  toughest  job  I'se  had  in  a  long  while  ! 
One  time  I  t'ought  I  was  gone,  sure!  An'  der 
old  rope  ain't  long  'nough  by  twenty  feet.  But 
if  yer  hangs  down  off  o'  the  end  and  drops,  yer 
won't  have  fur  ter  fall ;  an'  it's  better  nor 
nothin',  anyhow !" 

Parmelee  arose,  stiff  and  aching  as  to  his 
body,  but  with  a  joyful  energy  and  thankful- 
ness of  the  heart  that  went  far  toward  com- 
pensating for  physical  weakness. 

His  first  act  was  to  fling  his  arms  round  the 
boy,  and  incontinently  embrace  him. 

*' How  did  you  know  I  was  here?"  he  de- 
manded in  a  trembling  voice. 

"Oh,  I  beared  and  seed  der  hull  thing 
t'rough  der  hole  in  the  wall,"  the  other  replied, 
extricating  himself  with  some  embarrassment, 
"  I'se  got  lots  ter  tell  yer,  but  dis  ain't  no  time 
fer  jawin'.  Dem  fellers  '11  be  back  here  in  half 
a  shake,  and  den  yer  wuss  off  nor  ever!  Out 
er  der  winder,  boss !  an'  mind  not  let  go  der 
rope  till  yer  comes  to  der  end  of  it !  " 


2  24  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

John  was  in  no  mood  to  procrastinate.  He 
staggered  to  the  window.  A  rope  hung  down 
in  front  of  it.  The  building  was  but  two 
stories  in  height,  and  the  rope  was  attached  to 
a  chimney  above.  It  was  the  same  rope  which, 
in  its  coiled  up  state,  had  served  the  purpose 
of  a  chair  in  Bob's  apartment. 

Parmelee  sat  on  the  window  sill,  with  his 
legs  outside,  and  grasped  the  rope  in  both 
hands.  Below  was  an  abyss  of  darkness ;  but 
Parmelee  would  have  committed  himself  to  it, 
had  it  been  as  deep  as  the  Bottomless  Pit  itself. 
Without  hesitation,  he  swung  himself  off,  and 
descended,  hand  under  hand. 

The  rope,  however,  was  too  small  to  be  easily 
grasped  ;  and  Parmelee's  muscles  were  much 
weakened  by  recent  exhaustion.  He  found  his 
grip  relaxing  more  and  more,  and  the  last  few 
feet  of  the  rope  slid  through  his  fingers,  scorch- 
ing them  like  fire.  But  at  the  very  end  was  a 
knot,  to  which  he  clung,  suspended,  for  the 
space  of  a  breath  or  two,  over  nothingness. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Bob  selected  this  mo- 
ment for  making  his  own  descent.  He  braced 
the  rope  behind  one  knee  and  over  the  ankle, 


JOHN  FARM  ELBE '  S  CURSE.  225 

and  came  sailing  down  in  true  acrobatic  style. 
The  result  was  that  he  landed  with  considerable 
force  on  Parmelee's  shoulders.  The  rope 
broke,  and  they  both  came  to  the  ground  in  a 
heap. 


T 


XXII. 

HE  drop  from  the  end  of  the  rope  to  the 
ground  was  not  more  than  five  feet,  how- 
ever; and  when  Bob  and  John  Parmelee  had 
disentangled  themselves  from  each  other  and 
got  on  their  feet,  they  found  that  no  bones  Vv'ere 
broken.  But  Bob  was  near  choking  with  a  large 
fragment  of  roast  chicken  which  he  had  looted 
from  the  table  and  crammed  into  his  mouth  as 
he  made  his  exit. 

When  he  had  reduced  this  obstruction  he 
picked  up  the  rope  and  began  to  coil  it  round 
his  body. 

"  It's  a  lucky  thing  she  broke,  a'ter  all,"  he 
remarked,  philosophically.  ''  If  dem  fellers  had 
seed  a  rope  hangin'  down,  dey  might  a'  guessed 
I'd  hed  somethin*  ter  do  with  it.  Now,  dat's 
all  right,  an*  I  got  der  most  part  o'  my  rope, 
too  !  Come  along,  boss !  we'se  as  well  be  get- 
tin'  out  er  dis  'fore  dey  turns  up." 

Parmelee  glanced  about  him.     They  were  in 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  227 

a  narrow  court  connected  with  the  house.  On 
the  other  side  of  it  rose  the  blind  wall  of  the 
opposite -building.  The  street  on  which  the 
house  stood  was  separated  from  the  court 
by  a  door,  which  stood  ajar,  and  had  partly 
fallen  from  its  hinges.  Bob,  having  bestowed 
his  rope  safely,  led  the  way  toward  this 
door. 

But  just  as  he  was  about  to  set  foot  on  the 
sidewalk  outside,  he  jumped  violently  back, 
coming  in  contact  with  Parmelee,  and  almost 
upsetting  him. 

**  What's  the  matter?"  the  latter  asked. 

The  boy  turned,  and  made  a  vehement  ges- 
ture of  silence.  They  shrank  back  into  the 
triangular  space  between  the  half-open  door 
and  the  wall. 

Footsteps  and  voices  were  approaching  up 
the  street.  To  John  Parmelee's  ears  those 
voices,  though  he  had  never  heard  tw^o  of  them 
until  that  evening,  had  a  terrible  familiarity. 
Peeping  through  the  aperture  made  by  the 
loosened  hinge  of  the  door,  he  saw  them  pass — 
first  Mike,  then  Dick,  and  then  Blackmer.  The 
latter  had  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  just  as  he 


2  2  8  JOHN  PARMELEE '  S  C  URSE. 

got  opposite  the  door  he  stopped  and  felt  in 
his  pocket  for  a  match. 

"  Hold  up  a  minute,  lads,"  he  said,  ^'  till  I 
get  a  light." 

They  halted  and  turned  back.  There  was  a 
slight  breeze  drawing  up  the  street,  and  Black- 
mer,  in  order  to  escape  it,  stepped  inside  the 
doorway.  He  struck  his  match  on  the  door, 
within  three  inches  of  Parmelee's  face  on  the 
other  side.  Through  a  crack  in  one  of  the 
planks  of  the  door,  John  saw  his  face,  as  the 
match  blazed  up. 

*'  Will  that  damned  beggar  upstairs  squeal, 
d'  yer  think  ?  "  said  Dick's  voice. 

''  Make  yer  moind  aisy  on  that  !  "  returned 
]\Iike ;  ''he's  not  got  the  pluck   of  a  shrimp!  " 

*'  Leave  me  to  manage  him,  lads,"  said  Black- 
mer,  throwing  away  the  match  with  a  laugh. 
"  We'll  get  the  money  from  him  first,  and  the 
heart  out  of  his  body  afterward.  I've  waited 
a  dozen  years  to  be  even  with  him,  and  he  won't 
slip  through  my  fingers  now!" 

They  walked  on  together,  and  in  a  moment 
turned  into  the  house,  one  after  the  other,  and 
were  gone. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  229 

Parmelee  drew  a  long  breath  between  his 
teeth.  Bob  put  his  head  out  of  the  doorway. 
The  coast  was  clear. 

*'  Now,  then,  boss  !  "  he  whispered.  "  Leg  it, 
if  yer  never  did  afore !  They'll  know  yer 
hooked  it  in  two  minutes;  an'  if  we  ain't  five 
blocks  off  by  dat  time,  der  game's  bust,  an' 
don't  yer  forgit  it !     Streak  it,  I  tells  yer  !  " 

Parmelee  needed  no  urging.  He  followed 
the  small,  ragged  figure  as  it  flew  along  the 
street  and  dodged  round  the  corner,  until  he 
felt  as  if  his  throat  were  full  of  glue,  his  body 
stuffed  with  a  feather  bolster,  and  his  legs 
paralyzed. 

Just  then  Bob  stopped.  They  were  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps  of  the  elevated  railway  in 
Park  Place.  Nobody  was  in  sight.  The  light  of 
dawn  was  beginning  to  contend  with  that  of  the 
stars  in  the  East.     They  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

*' Say,  you's  John  Parmelee,  ain't  yer?" 
demanded  Bob,  after  a  while. 

John  was  far  too  busy  catching  his  breath  to 
reply  in  words.     He  nodded. 

"  In  course  yer  is,"  said  Bob.  **  Got  a  little 
gal,  ain't  yer?" 


^30  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

John  gave  a  great  start,  and  looked  at  him. 
"  What — about  her  ?  "  he  gasped  out. 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,  she  is!  "  returned  Bob, 
comfortably.  "An'  she's  got  all  der  boodle  out 
er  der  bank,  in  a  black  bag.  I  seed  it  myself !  " 

John  listened  in  astonishment.  *'  Is  she — 
safe  ?  Where — where — "  he  panted.  **  Show 
me — let  me  go  to  her !  " 

'*  Easy,  boss !  "  said  the  urchin,  as  the  other 
attempted  to  get  to  his  feet.  "  Jest  you  keep 
yer  shirt  on  !  I'se  runnin'  dis  'ere  game,  I  is  ! 
Ef  yer  don't  do  as  I  tells  yer  dem  fellers  '11  git 
their  claws  on  yer  agin,  an'  den  yer  gone  up  ! 
'Sides,  I'se  got  somethin'  pertickler  to  askyer." 

"  To  ask  me?  " 

"  In  course  !  Is  dat  feller  Black  Hal — 
Blackmer's  his  right  name — does  he  belong  ter 
your  folks  ?  " 

"■  He's  my  brother-in-law,"  answered  Parmc- 
lee. 

"  Dat  means  he's  your  wife's  brother,  don't 
it?" 

*'Yes.     What  of  it?" 

"  Why,  dat  beats  all !  I  knows  her,  like  she 
was   my  own   ma!     Sal's  her    name,  ain't  it? 


JOHN  P ARM E LEE ' S  CURSE.  23 1 

Dat's  her  I  Crazy  Sal,  we  calls  her.  Eats 
opium,  she  does,  an'  hits  der  pipe.  Oh,  Ave's 
prime  friends,  she  an'  me,  I  can  tell  you !  She 
sleeps  over  to  my  place  ;  an'  she  an'  your  little 
gal  is  sleepin'  dere  now,  right  as  we  sits  jawin* 
on  dese  ere   steps  !  " 

''  But  where  is  your  place  ?  Where  are  they  ? 
For  heaven's  sake,  my  boy,  don't  make  game  of 
me  !  I — I  can't  bear  it  ! "  faltered  John,  shak- 
ing all  over  with  emotion  and  excitement. 
*'  I've  been  searching  for — my — wife — for  ten 
years." 

**  Well,  yer  needn't  search  no  more,"  rejoined 
Bob,  cheerfully.  ''  Yer'll  have  her  to-night, 
sure !  But  yer  can't  go  arter  her  now,  'cos 
she's  in  my  house  :  an'  dat's  next  door  to  der 
place  we  just  come  out  of!  " 

At  this  news,  Parmelee  forced  himself  erect 
at  once. 

"  My  wife  and  daughter  next  door  to  that 
thieves' den  ?"  he  exclaimed.  '' Show  me  the 
way  back.  My  God  !  they  might  be  murdered 
before — " 

"  Why,  what  ails  yer,  boss  ?  "  cried  Bob,  re- 
provingly.    "  Don't   you    go    to    be    a  darned 


^3^  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

fool !  I  ain't  a-goln'  to  show  yer  der  way  back, 
an  I  bet  yer  don't  find  it  alone  !  An'  if  yer 
did,  yer'd  on'y  get  'em  inter  trouble,  an'  do  no 
good  !  Black  Hal  an'  his  gang  don'  know  noth- 
in'  'bout  where  they  is," — in  this,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  Bob  stretched  the  truth  a  little — "  an' 
dere  ain't  nobody  goin'  to  tell  *em.  But  jist 
you  wait  till  dey  comes  out,  an'  den  yer  can 
catch  on  to  'em." 

**  How  do  I  know  where  they  will  go  ?  What 
chance  is  there  of  my  finding  them  in  the  midst 
of  a  million  people  ?  " 

*'Well,  ain't  I  a-goin'  ter  tell  yer?  If  yer 
knows  der  ropes,  all  der  people  in  der  worl* 
ain't  goin'  ter  hinder  yer.  It's  dis  way  :  Crazy 
Sal  (dat's  yer  wife)  she  alius  goes  to  the  same 
place  for  der  opium  stuff,  an'  she  goes  along 
to'ards  der  evenin'.  Terday,  in  course,  she'll 
take  der  little  gal  along  with  her.  Well,  yer 
goes  down  dere  'bout  der  same  time,  an'  yer 
drops  right  in  on  'em,  don't  yer  ?  " 

"  My  wife  goes  every  day  to  an  opium 
joint  ?  "  said  Parmelee,  with  a  groan. 

**  Ter  be  sure  she  does  !  "  returned  Bob,  in  an 
encouraging  tone ;  "  an'   I   can   take  yer  right 


JOHH  FARM  ELBE '  S  CURSE.  233 

ter  the  place.  But  yer'll  have  ter  keep  dark 
till  evenin',  less  yer  wants  der  cops  or  Black 
Hal  ter  git  hold  on  yer.  I'll  take  }'er  roun'  to 
a  crib  I  knows  on,  where  yer  can  lay  low;  and 
when  my  business  hours  is  over,  we'll  go  a'ter 
Crazy  Sal." 

"Curse  the  infernal  stuff!"  muttered  Par- 
melee,  as  he  followed  Bob  across  the  City  Hall 
Park  toward  the  regions  of  Chatham  street. 
"  I'd  give  my  life  to  destroy  the  last  atom  of  it 
off  the  face  of  the  earth  !  And  I'd  almost  give 
my  life  to  have  an  atom  of  it  in  my  mouth  now  ! 
But  I'll  die  before  I  touch  it  again  !  "  was  his 
final  resolve,  uttered  with  all  due  purpose  and 
solemnity. 

On  the  East  River  shore  there  was',  at  this 
time,  an  antique  monument  of  decay  and  inef- 
ficiency in  the  shape  of  a  pier,  which  had  never 
received  the  medical  aid  of  the  doctors  of  the 
dock  department.  In  a  cavity  underneath  this 
structure  John  Parmelee  spent  the  day,  his 
loneliness  being  mitigated  by  the  incursion  of 
an  occasion'al  wharf  rat,  and  by  the  presence 
'  of  one  or  two  loafers  as  dilapidated  as  him- 
self.     It   was    not    a   luxurious    retreat  ;    but 


234  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

perhaps  it  was  as  good  a  place  as  another  in 
which  to  review  a  crippled  life,  and  to  make 
\\liolesome  and  honorable  resolves  for  the 
future. 


w 


XXIII. 

HEN  Blackmer  and  his  companions 
entered  their  prisoner's  room  and  found 
it  empty,  they  could  scarcely  credit  the  evi- 
dence of  their  own  senses. 

There  was  the  vacant  chair  and  the  rope 
which  had  bound  him,  cut  in  half  a  dozen 
pieces.  And  there  was  the  open  window 
through  which  he  had  escaped.  But  how  had 
it  been  managed  ?  Had  he  done  it  himself,  or 
had  he  received  assistance  ? 

Blackmer  was  of  the  former  opinion.  But 
Mike,  who  had  done  the  binding,  and  had  con- 
fidence in  his  workmanship,  entertained  the 
the  opposite  conviction. 

As  for  Dick,  he  immediately  reverted  to  his 
old  idea  that  Crazy  Sal  had  had  something  to 
do  with  it,  and  that  Bob  had  perhaps  acted  as 
her  agent.  The  others  laughed  at  the  notion  ; 
but  Dick  persisted,  and  would  not  be  satisfied 


236  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

with  any  thing  short  of  a  visit  to  the  room  in 
which  Bob  and  Sal  lived. 

The  party  repaired  thither  accordingly,  and 
softly  opened  the  door.  There  were  Sal  and 
Sophie  sound  asleep  on  their  respective  mat- 
tresses. But  all  the  visitors  mistook  Sophie 
for  Bob,  and  therefore  concluded  that  nothing 
could  be  wrong  there.  Even  Dick,  if  not  sat- 
isfied, was  at  least  silenced. 

They  returned  to  their  own  room  and  held  a 
consultation. 

''  I'll  tell  you  what  I  tJiInk,  lads,"  said  Black- 
mer,  at  last.  *'  Somebody  has  been  on  our 
trail — either  the  cops  or  somebody  else.  They 
recognized  Parmelee,  and  laid  to  get  him  away 
from  us  and  secure  the  reward.  They  saw  us 
come  out  and  improved  the  opportunity — 
fetched  a  ladder,  broke  in  the  window,  and 
carried  him  off.  By  this  time  he's  probably 
safe  in  the  lock-up  ;  and  we've  got  left  !  " 

"  We  hadn't  never  ought  ter  have  let  go  of 
him,"  moaned  Dick,  gloomily.  ''What  did  we 
want  to  go  off  an'  leave  him  fur?  It  makes 
me  sick  !  I'm  goin*  out  of  this  business!  To 
have  fifty-seven  thousand  dollars  dangled  under 


JOHN  PA RMELEE  'S  CURSE.  237 

yer  nose  and  then  jerked  away  agin,  is  worse 
nor  starvin'  to  death!" 

''  I'm  not  going  to  give  it  up  yet,"  said 
Blackmer.  "  Even  if  he  has  been  run  in,  it 
doesn't  follow  that  he  has  told  where  the 
money  is.  And  there's  always  the  off  chance 
that  he  got  away  by  himself.  Anyhow,  it'll 
be  in  the  papers  to-day  if  he  has  been  captured. 
Suppose  we  three  ramble  about  to-day,  sepa- 
rately, and  keep  a  sharp  lookout.  Meet  here 
again  at  eight  o'clock  to-night  and  report  prog- 
ress. We  may  collar  the  stuff  after  all.  Never 
say  die  till  after  the  funeral,  is  my  motto!" 

The  others  had  nothing  better  to  suggest,  and 
Blackmer's  proposal  was  agreed  to. 

But  Blackmer  had  a  scheme  of  his  own,  for 
which  the  one  he  had  announced  was  merely  a 
blind.  He  had  never  really  departed  from  his 
first  view,  that  Parmelee  had  escaped  unassisted. 
He  had  meditated,  likewise,  upon  the  singular 
condition  Parmelee  had  been  in  at  the  time  of 
his  capture  ;  he  had  noted  his  appearance  and 
the  nervous  distraction  of  his  manner;  and  had 
finally  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  he,  as  well 
as  Sallie,  was  an  opium  eater. 


238  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE, 

From  this  he  reasoned  that,  since  all  opium 
eaters  are  slaves  of  their  habit,  Parmelee's  first 
impulse,  on  finding  himself  at  liberty,  would  be 
to  seek  out  an  opium  joint  and  compensate  him- 
self for  his  recent  abstinence.  New  York,  at 
this  time,  contained  only  a  limited  number  of 
these,  to  which  strangers  could  have  access; 
and  they  were  all  situated  within  a  short  dis- 
tance of  one  another.  In  one  or  another  of 
them,  therefore,  Parmelee  might  confidently  be 
looked  for. 

But  Blackmer  had  an  additional  motive  in 
wishing  to  act  independently  of  Mike  and  Dick ; 
he  wished  to  leave  the  coast  clear  for  his 
departure  to  IMexico  with  Sherman.  If  he 
delayed  to  divide  the  money  with  his  two  com- 
panions, he  would  probably  not  be  ready  to  set 
off  on  ]\Ionday  morning.  The  time  was  short 
enough,  even  if  all  went  as  he  hoped.  There 
must  be  no  hindrance  to  his  movements.  If  he 
could  find  Parmelee  between  now  and  Sunday 
night,  however,  he  might  transact  his  little 
affair  with  him,  and,  leaving  Dick  and  Mike  in 
the  lurch,  escape  with  the  whole  booty  in  his 
own  pocket. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  239 

And  what  course  should  he  take  in  case  his 
search  were  unsuccessful  within  the  required 
limits  of  time  ?  Then  he  must  choose  between 
Sherman's  offei',  and  the  chance  of  finding  Par- 
melee  at  some  later  period.  Fifty  thousand 
dollars  was  a  large  sum  to  let  slip  between  one's 
fingers  ;  but  it  was  an  uncertainty,  whereas 
Sherman's  two  hundred  dollars  a  week  was  a 
fixed  fact,  not  to  speak  of  the  other  advan- 
tages connected  with  it.  Blackmer  hesitated 
for  some  time  ;  but  he  finally  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  if  he  were  not  successful  by  the 
end  of  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  he  had  bet- 
ter give  up  the  fifty  thousand,  and  keep  his 
eno-acrement  with  Sherman.  This  determina- 
tion  stimulated  him  to  leave  nothing  untried  to 
achieve  success  in  both  directions.  He  would 
have  liked  to  call  on  Sherman,  and  discuss  any 
final  points  that  might  come  up  with  reference 
to  their  journey  ;  but  to  do  this  might  detain 
him  too  long,  and  every  moment  was  precious. 
He  thought  of  sending  Sherman  a  note,  telling 
him  that  he  was  kept  away  by  a  pressure  of 
final  arrangements  ;  but  he  was  reluctant,  in 
the  present  hazardous  state   of  affairs,  to  coni- 


240  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

mit  himself  to  writing  on  any  subject ;  and  he 
persuaded  himself  that  it  would  not  be  neces- 
sary. 

Had  he  met  Sherman  at  this  juncture,  it  is 
probable  that  the  latter  would  have  given  him 
a  surprise.  Sherman  had  not  forgottenTyrrel's 
warning  ;  and  the  more  he  reflected  upon  it, 
the  more  important  did  it  appear.  Tyrrel  was 
not  a  man  prone  to  make  careless  statements ; 
and,  on  this  occasion,  he  had  evidently  said  as 
little  as  he  could.  If  Blackmer  had  been 
merely  wild  and  dissipated,  it  was  no  great 
matter;  Sherman  could  plead  guilty  to  as  much 
as  that  himself.  But  if  he  had  been  actually 
dishonest,  it  altered  the  case  completely.  It 
was  true,  no  doubt,  as  Tyrrel  had  suggested, 
that  a  criminal  may  reform,  and  henceforth 
lead  an  honest  life  ;  but  the  interests  which 
Sherman  had  at  stake  were  too  large  to  run 
any  risks  with  them  ;  and  the  position  in  which 
he  had  designed  to  place  Blackmer  would  sub- 
ject him  to  temptations,  which  only  a  man  of 
staunch  integrity  could  resist. 

Revolving  these  things,  he  entered  the   bar- 
ber's saloon   to  get  his    beard  trimmed  ;  and 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  241 

while  awaiting  his  turn,  he  saw  the  district 
attorney  come  into  the  room.  They  had  been 
acquainted  before  Sherman  left  New  York; 
and  he  now  accosted  him,  and  they  sat  down 
together.  It  occurred  to  Sherman  that  this 
gentleman  might  be  able  to  solve  his  doubts ; 
and  after  a  little  preliminary  conversation,  he 
asked  him  whether  he  happened  to  know  any 
thing  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Harold  Black- 
mer  ? 

"  Why,  let's  see !  "  returned  the  other,  press- 
ing one  side  of  his  mustache  between  his  teeth 
with  his  fino-er.  "  Blackmer — Harold  Black- 
mer?     Isn't  he  the  man  they  call  Black  Hal  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Sherman,  with  an  uneasy 
sensation.     '■'■  He's  a  dark-complexioned  man." 

''  Black  hair  and  eyes,"  continued  the  attor- 
ney ;  ''  rather  tall,  good-looking,  dresses  well ; 
yes,  I  guess  I  know  something  about  him. 
Has  he  been  trying  the  confidence  game  on 
you  r 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  exactly,"  returned  Sherman, 
with  a  constrained  laugh  ;   "  but   I   thought — " 

"  Next  !  "  called  out  one  of  the  barbers,  as  a 
seat  was  vacated. 


242  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  said  the  attor- 
ney, as  Sherman  rose.  "  After  we  get  through 
here,  you  come  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you 
something  that  will  settle  the  question  at 
once." 

Accordingly,  after  the  scissors  and  razor  had 
done  their  work,  Sherman  accompanied  the 
ofificer  down  to  Mulberry  street,  and  entered 
the  police  headquarters.  He  was  taken  into  a 
room  where  there  were  a  number  of  folding- 
frames,  each  containing  about  two-score  cartes- 
de-visite.  One  of  these  frames  was  handed  to 
Sherman,  and  he  was  requested  to  see  whether 
he  recognized  any  one  of  the  faces  there. 

On  the  first  page,  half  way  down,  he  found 
what  he  wished — and  yet  did  not  wish — to  see; 
there  were  the  regular,  sharp-cut  features,  the 
curly  black  hair,  the  self-contained  expression  ; 
it  was  Harold  Blackmer  beyond  a  doubt ;  and 
there  was  not  abetter  looking  rogue  in  all  the 
rogue's  gallery.  The  detective  in  charge  gave 
Sherman  some  account  of  certain  episodes  in 
his  friend's  career  ;  and  he  finally  departed,  a 
sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  *'  You  are  not  the 
first  man  whom  the  contents  of  that  collection 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  243 

has  disagreeably  surprised,"  remarked  the  dis- 
trict attorney,  as  he  bade  him  farewell ;  "  but 
you'll  probably  find  it  a  cheaper  method  of 
getting  your  eyes  open  than  a  personal  experi- 
ence would  be.  How  it  may  be  in  Mexico,  I 
don't  know  ;  but  if  you  want  to  find  a  business 
partner  in  New  York,  you'd  better  begin  your 
search  here,  and  work  up  !  " 

"  1  think  I'll  do  without  a  partner  for  the 
present,"  replied  Sherman  gloomily;  and  he 
went  back  to  his  rooms,  and  wondered  what  he 
should  say  to  Blackmer,  in  case  the  latter 
should  make  his  appearance  on  Monday  morn- 
ing, with  his  trunk  packed  for  Mexico.  "  I'll 
give  him  a  thousand  dollars  and  call  it  square  !  '* 
he  said  to  himself.  But  destiny  had  ordered 
the  matter  otherwise. 

While  these  schemes  were  engendering,  Fred 
Tyrrel  was  meeting  with  fair  encouragement  at 
his  end  of  the  line.  The  forenoon  had  passed 
very  pleasantly  in  introducing  the  mother  and 
daughter  to  each  other,  and  in  getting  the  for- 
mer provided  with  raiment  better  suiting  the 
station  in  life  to  which  it  was  intended  she 
should  return.     Sallie  said  little,    and   perhaps 


244  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

did  not  as  yet  realize  what  changes  were  in  store 
for  her  ;  but  she  was  entirely  docile,  and  tract- 
able, and  remained  most  of  the  day  at  the 
window  of  the  little  priv^ate  sitting  room  which 
had  been  assigned  to  her  at  the  Astor  House, 
whispering  softly  to  herself  at  times,  but  other- 
wise wholly  undemonstrative. 

Meanwhile  Tyrrel  was  extracting  from  Sophie 
all  the  information  she  had  to  give.  Of  her 
father's  movements  she  could,  of  course,  furnish 
no  recent  news  ;  but  she  described  every  thing 
that  had  occurred  on  the  Wednesday  evening, 
and  retailed  the  conversation  between  Bob  and 
herself,  which  fixed  upon  Blackmer  the  crime 
of  the  burglary,  fruitless  of  result  though  the 
crime  was.  The  whole  course  of  events  was 
now  tolerably  clear;  all  that  remained  to  be 
discovered  was  the  whereabouts  of  Parmelee,  of 
Bob,  and  of  the  black  satchel  containing  the 
money. 

Concerning  the  latter  Tyrrel  had  no  very 
sanguine  anticipations  ;  he  even  went  so  far  as 
to  harbor  a  misgiving  (which,  however  he  did 
not  venture  to  hint  to  Sophie)  that  Bob  was  a 
stool    pigeon  in   the  employ  of  the   Blackmer 


JOHN-  PA  kiMELEE '  S  CURSE.  2 45 

gang,  and  had  conveyed  the  satchel  to  them  as 
soon  as  Sophie  had  fallen  asleep.  In  that  case 
the  thieves  were  probably  already  beyond  pur- 
suit ;  and  there  was  nothing  left  to  be  done 
but  to  find  John  Parmelee. 

But  his  disappearance  was  the  greatest  mys- 
tery of  all.  If  it  were  true  (and  there  seemed 
to  be  no  doubt  of  it)  that  he  was  carried  off 
by  Blackmer,  the  latter's  only  object  could  have 
been  to  force  him  to  deliver  up  the  booty  of 
which  he  was  supposed  to  be  possessed.  If, 
however,  this  booty  had  been  secured  for  the 
thieves  by  Bob,  why  was  not  Parmelee  released  ? 
And  if  released,  and  in  his  right  senses,  why  did 
he  not  report  at  once  to  the  police? 

The  more  Tyrrel  reflected  upon  this  matter, 
the  more  uneasy  did  he  become.  He  could  not 
help  perceiving  that  Blackmer  would  find  him- 
self seriously  embarrassed  by  Parmelee,  and 
that  he  could  not  safely  allow  the  latter  his 
liberty  until  he  himself  was  out  of  all  danger. 
But  Blackmer  was  a  wholly  conscienceless  and 
unrelenting  scoundrel  ;  and  what  was  to  pre- 
vent him  from  finally  ridding  himself  of  all 
anxiety  on  Parmelee's  account,  by  the    simple 


246  JOHN  FARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

and  horrible   expedient  of  putting   him  out  of 
existence  ? 

It    might  have    been  of  some  avail,  Tyrrel 
thought,  if  he  could  have  gone  to  the  house  in 
which   Sophie  had  passed  the  night,  and  given 
it  a  thorough  ransacking.     It  was  possible  that 
Parmelee  might  be  imprisoned  there.    But  this 
project    was    unfortunately    frustrated  by  So- 
phie's   ignorance  as  to  the  direction  or  local- 
ity in  which  the  house  lay.     She  knew  that  it 
was  an  ugly  house,  and  that  the  street  leading 
to  it  was  narrow  and  dirty  ;  but   she  had  taken 
no  note  of  the  route  which  she  and  her  mother 
had    followed    in  coming   away  from   it.     Nor 
was  Sallie  herself  of  any  more  assistance.     The 
truth   w^as    that    ''  Crazy    Sal   "  more    or  less 
merited  her  title  during  a  large  part  of  every 
twenty-four  hours  ;  and  this  did  not  happen  to 
be    one    of    her    more    lucid    intervals.      She 
seemed   to  imagine   that  she  was   asleep,    and 
having  pleasant     dreams ;    and,    w^hen   Tyrrel 
endeavored  to  make  her  talk,  she  would  gently 
request  him  not  to  awaken  her  !     All  he  could 
do,  therefore,  was  to  urge   his  detectives  to  as 
much    general   activity    as    possible  ;    and    to 


JOHN  PARMELEE' S  CURSE,  247 

smoke  an  unconscionable  quantity  of  cigars, 
while  awaiting  their  bulletins. 

About  dusk  on  this  day,  however,  came  the 
end  of  all  his  suspense  and  speculations. 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  his  room,  and 
one  of  the  detectives  entered. 

**  Well,  have  you  found  him?"  demanded 
Tyrrcl. 

''  Well,  he's  been  found,"  was  the  reply, 
*'  and  he's  now  at  headquarters.  And  that 
chap  Blackmer,  or  Black  Hal,  is  there  with 
him  ! " 


XXIV. 

THERE  is  a  certain  obscure  passageway 
leading,  through  an  arched  door,  out  of 
Canal  street.  Its  uneven  pavement  is  littered 
with  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  the  swarthy  sides 
of  the  buildings  on  either  side,  rising  scarce 
three  feet  apart,  seem  to  lean  toward  each  other 
as  they  ascend,  and  make  the  foul  air  stagnant. 

About  twenty  paces  down  this  passage,  on 
the  left  hand  side,  there  is  a  low  doorway,  flush 
with  the  wall ;  you  might  easily  pass  it  without 
noticing  it.  But  if  you  enter  the  door  you 
will  find  yourself  in  a  dark  entry  just  wide 
enough  for  a  fairly  broad  shouldered  man  to 
walk  through. 

At  the  end  of  the  entry  is  another  door. 
Passing  this,  you  are  in  a  sort  of  ante-room, 
some  twelve  feet  square.  Here  sits  a  sullen- 
faced,  powerfully  built  Mongoh'an.  ostensibly 
engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  baskets. 

Unless  you  can  satisfy  this  personage  as  to 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  249 

the  legitimate  (or  rather  illegitimate)  object  of 
your  coming,  you  will  not  be  likely  to  proceed 
further.  Otherwise,  after  receiving  from  you 
a  small  sum  of  money,  he  rises  sluggishly,  and 
lays  his  hand  on  a  certain  spot  of  the  appar- 
ently solid  wall. 

A  door  is  concealed  here,  however,  which 
opens  by  a  sliding  panel,  and  admits  you  into 
another  room,  in  which  the  devotees  of  the 
opium  habit  meet  to  indulge  their  vice. 

Down  this  entry  and  through  these  doors 
came,  late  on  the  afternoon  of  Saturday,  a  man 
and  a  boy.  After  a  brief  confabulation  with 
the  sentry  in  the  anteroom,  they  were  admitted 
to  the  inner  apartment. 

It  was  about  double  the  size  of  the  ante- 
room. The  ceiling  was  low,  and  the  ventila- 
tion extremely  defective.  A  series  of  bunks 
or  berths  were  ranged  round  the  walls,  one 
above  another.  A  dozen  or  more  of  them 
were  occupied  by  the  motionless  forms  of  men 
and  women,  all  apparently  of  the  poorest  class, 
and  all  in  a  more  or  less  stupefied  condition. 

The  smell  of  the  place  was  enervating  and 
sickening.     The   dim  light    of    a  single  small 


250  ■  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

lamp  could  hardly  do  more  than  define  the 
masses  of  shadow  which  encroached  on  all  sides 
of  it.  Layers  of  thin  smoke  hung  and  swayed 
in  the  still  air.  There  was  a  hideous  tawdry 
finery  in  the  fittings  of  the  place,  which  made 
the  squalor  more  obtrusive.  Strips  of  colored 
tissue  paper,  cut  in  scallops,  were  pendent  from 
the  ceiling;  the  cushions  and  mattresses  were 
upholstered  in  some  kind  of  crimson  cloth,  now 
blackened  and  shiny  with  dirt.  The  one  small 
window  at  the  end  of  the  room  was  fitted  with 
panes  of  yellow,  purple  and  red  glass.  The 
sallow  and  leering  Chinaman  who  rose  from  the 
floor  to  receive  the  newcomers  was  clad  in  a 
caftan  and  trowsers  of  some  material  which 
might  have  been  figured  silk  in  the  days  of 
Confucius,  but  was  a  tissue  of  greasy  stuff  now. 

Yet  it  was  to  this  place  that  Parmelee  had 
been  conducted  by  his  friend  Bob  to  look  for 
his  wife  ;  it  was  to  this  place  that  she,  born  and 
reared  a  lady,  had  resorted  for  years  past  to 
obtain  the  only  solace  left  her  to   care   about. 

"  She  ain't  here  yet,  boss,"  said  Bob  in  an 
undertone,  after  having  made  a  survey  of  the 
inmates :    ''  but    she  won't    be   long  a-comin'. 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  25 1 

You'se  better  He  down  an'  take  a  pipe.  ''  I'll 
keep  a  lookout  in  der  street,  and  fetch  her 
along." 

"  I'll  wait,"  answered  John  Parmelee.  "  Mer- 
ciful God !  What  a  trysting  spot  for  my  love 
and  me !  " 

Bob  left  the  room  and  the  house  hastily;  for 
although  not  generally  squeamish,  he  drew  the 
line  at  the  stench  of  an  opium  den.  But  as  he 
was  passing  down  the  passage  opening  into 
Canal  street  he  saw  a  man  turn  the  corner  and 
advance  toward  him. 

The  man  was  Blackmer.  Bob  knew  him  at 
a  glance ;  but  a  boy  is  not  so  easily  recogniza- 
ble as  a  man,  and  Bob,  by  pulling  down  his 
cap  over  his  eyes,  managed  to  slip  by  without 
being  noticed,  and  the  next  moment  was  safe 
in  Canal  street. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  ? 

Blackmer  must  have  tracked  them  to  the 
den,  and  certainly  he  would  intend  Parmelee 
no  good.  After  an  instant's  hurried  reflection, 
Bob  formed  an  heroic  resolution.  He  was  con- 
stitutionally and  perhaps  hereditarily  averse  to 
any  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  guardian   of   the 


252  JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE. 

peace  ;  nevertheless,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
apply  to  the  first  police  officer  he  could  find 
and  give  him  an  alarm  of  murder. 

But  circumstances  had  already  occurred 
which  rendered  this  act  of  gallantry  superfluous. 

Four  big  men  in  dark  uniforms  came  down 
Canal  street,  and  halted  at  the  entrance  of 
the  narrow  passageway.  Here  one  remained 
on  guard,  with  his  long  locust  staff  in  his  hand 
and  an  aspect  of  complacent  invincibility. 
The  other  three  tramped  down  the  passage  till 
they  came  to  the  low  doorway.  Two  went  in, 
while  the  third  remained  to  intercept  possible 
fugitives. 

The  former  traversed  the  entry  and  ascended 
the  stairs  as  noiselessly  as  possible.  Not  so 
noiselessly,  however,  but  that  the  sentry  in  the 
anteroom  heard  their  tread  and  knew  what  it 
foreboded.  In  an  instant,  he  slipped  an  iron 
bar  across  the  door,  and  whisked  into  the  inner 
room  to  give  the  alarm. 

But  here  there  was  already  an  uproar.  Two 
men  were  rolling  in  a  fierce  struggle  on  the 
floor;  and  the  other  inmates,  in  various 
stages    of   excitement    and    dismay,   were    sit- 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  253 

ting  up  in  their  bunks,  or  stumbling  about 
the  room. 

Outside,  the  police  officers  were  thundering 
at  the  door.  In  a  minute  it  gave  way  with 
a  crash  and  they  rushed  in. 

Simultaneously  with  their  entrance,  the  pro- 
prietors vanished  through  the  colored  glass- 
window,  like  Harlequin  in  the  pantomime. 
They  escaped  ;  but  all  the  others,  including 
Harold  Blackmer  and  John  Parmelee  (the 
latter  of  whom  had,  by  good  fortune,  just 
succeeded  in  pinning  his  antagonist  down  and 
getting  on  top  of  him)  were  taken  into  custody 
forthwith,  and  held  to  answer  the  charge  of 
having  been  detected  in  an  opium-joint. 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  independent  enter- 
prise of  the  local  inspector — who  knew  nothing 
of  the  Tisdale  bank  robbery  and  its  dramatis 
personcE,  but  merely  aimed  to  get  credit  for 
general  zeal  and  efficiency — was  instrumental 
in  bringing  to  a  crisis  a  train  of  events  which, 
but  for  him,  would  probably  have  had  a  very 
different  ending. 

The  prisoners  were  marched  through  the 
streets  to  the  police  station,  a  dismal   crew; 


254  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

and  a  crowd  of  noisy  and  unsympathetic  citizens 
followed  them.  Among  the  crowd  was  a  small, 
red-headed  boy,  whom  nobody  noticed,  but  who 
took  note  of  every  thing.  This  boy  hung  about 
until  the  prisoners  had  been  locked  up,  and  he 
had  learned  that  the  examination  was  fixed 
for  Monday  ;  and  then  he  quietly  disappeared. 

When  Fred  Tyrrel  was  informed  of  the  arrest 
he  poured  out  a  glass  of  champagne  for  the 
detective,  gave  him  a  cigar,  and  then  the  two 
got  into  a  hansom  and  drove  down  to  the 
station  house. 

His  immediate  object  was  to  bail  out  Par- 
melee  over  Sunday.  But  when  the  inspector 
discovered  what  a  prize  he  had  unwittingly  got 
hold  of,  he  politely  but  firmly  declined  to 
relinquish  his  grasp. 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  Mr.  Parmelee's  innocence, 
since  you  say  so,  Mr.  Tyrrel,"  he  remarked, 
^*  but,  as  a  matter  of  official  etiquette  and 
routine,  I  guess  we'd  better  keep  him.  He 
shall  have  our  best  accommodations,  of  course, 
as  a  first-class  misdemeanant ;  and  his  friends 
will  be  allowed  to  visit  him  ;  but  I'm  afraid 
that's  as  far  as  I  can  go  for  you,  to-night." 


JOHN  PARMELEE  'S  CURSE.  255 

Finding  himself  constrained  to  accept  the 
situation,  Tyrrel  next  drove  round  to  the 
various  newspaper  offices,  and  succeeded  in 
making  arrangements  whereby  Parmelee's  name 
was  kept  out  of  the  Sunday  issues.  Then 
he  repaired  to  the  residence  of  Ex-Senator 
Dumling. 

The  ex-senator  was  a  lawyer  of  ability  and 
influence  second  to  none  in  New  York.  Tyrrel 
engaged  his  services  for  the  defense  ;  though, 
in  order  to  secure  his  consent,  he  was  obliged 
to  request  it  as  a  personal  favor  to  himself. 
*^  It's  not  altogether  in  my  style,  you  know,  my 
dear  fellow,"  the  great  jurist  remarked.  How- 
ever, once  committed  to  the  case,  he  entered 
into  it  with  characteristic  energy  and  thorough- 
ness ;  and  before  bed-time  he  had  interviewed 
Sophie  and  John  Parmelee,  and  had  sued  out 
a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Blackmer  on  the 
charge  of  burglary.  He  also  paid  his  respects 
to  Mrs.  Parmelee  ;  but  it  was  thought  advisable 
not  to  question  her  in  her  present  condition. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  outlook?" 
demanded  Tyrrel,  as  he  bade  the  ex-senator 
good  night. 


256  JOHN  FARM E LEE ' S  CURSE. 

"  Don't  altogether  fancy  it,  you  know,"  was 
the  reply.  ''  Evidence  good  enough  as  far  as 
it  goes ;  but  it  wants  clinching." 

''  What  would  clinch  it  ?  " 

"I  fancy  that  black  satchel  would  be  the  best 
thing,"  replied  the  lawyer.  ''  Only  find  that  for 
me,  and  I  shan't  feel  scared." 


XXV. 

IN  spite  of  the  care  which  had  been  taken  to 
minimize  the  publicity  of  the  case,  the  court- 
room was  full  when  the  Tisdale  Bank  against 
John  Parmelee  and  others  was  called. 

The  evidence  for  the  prosecution  is  already 
in  possession  of  the  reader,  and  need  not  be 
detailed  here.  Richards,  the  heroic  deputy- 
constable,  repeated  his  midnight  tale  of  law- 
lessness and  blood  ;  and  it  was  shown  on  other 
testimony  that  the  cashier  had  free  access  to 
the  safe  at  all  times ;  that  he  was  far  from 
being  in  affluent  circumstances ;  that  on  the 
night  of  the  robbery,  and  at  or  about  the  hour 
of  its  commission,  he  left  his  house,  and  was 
not  again  heard  of  until  his  arrest  in  New  York, 
and  finally  that  there  were  no  traces  of  any 
other  agency  than  his  own  in  the  affair,  and 
that  the  money  had  utterly  disappeared.  To 
all  this  Ex-Senator  Dumling  listened  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  and  an  expression  half  way 


258  JOHN  FARM E LEE '  S  CURSE, 

between  amusement  and  boredom  ;  nor  did  he 
condescend  to  cross-examine  so  much  as  a 
single  witness. 

"  This  is  circumstantial  evidence  with  a  ven- 
geance! "  he  remarked,  as  if  to  himself,  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet  for  the  defense.  *'  I  intend,  if 
it  pleases  the  court,  to  show  first,  that  John 
Parmelee  was  not  the  man  to  commit  a  rob- 
bery;  second,  that  he  had  no  need  to  commit 
it  ;  third,  that  no  robbery  was  committed  by 
any  one  "  (at  this  statement  there  was  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  room,  and  the  judge  uncrossed  his 
legs  and  sat  up)  ;  "  fourth,  that  the  person  who 
planned  the  robbery,  and  who,  but  for  the  pre- 
caution of  John  Parmelee,  would  have  suc- 
ceeded in  his  attempt,  is  not  John  Parmelee  at 
all,  but  a  very  different  individual,  with  whom 
I  expect,  before  this  case  is  over,  to  make  the 
gentlemen  on  the  other  side  much  better 
acquainted  !  "  t 

Testimony  as  to  th^  cashier's  unimpeached 
good  character  for  thirty  years  was  then  given 
by  Richards,  by  Tyrrel,  and  even  by  the  ven- 
erable Mr.  Pierson,  the  president  of  the  bank. 
It  was  also  proved  that  his  salary  was  adequate 


JOHN  P ARM E LEE ' S  CURSE.  259 

to  his  needs,  and  that  his  habits  were  regular 
and  the  reverse  of  extravagant.  This  disposed 
of  the  first  two  heads  of  the  ex-senator's  pro- 
gramme. John  Parmelee  was  then  called  to 
testify  in  his  own  behalf. 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Mr.  Parmelee,  by  giv- 
ing" an  account  of  what  occurred  on  the  after- 
noon  and  evening  of  Wednesday  last,  so  far  as 
your  memory  serves  you,"  said  the  lawyer,  in  a 
tone  indicative  of  kindliness  and  respect. 

John  began  and  told  his  story;  how  he  had 
received  a  letter  (produced)  which  he  believed 
was  written  by  his  wife,  warning  him  of  the 
projected  attempt  ;  how  he  had  decided,  for 
certain  reasons,  to  undertake  the  protection  of 
the  money  himself,  instead  of  communicating 
at  once  with  the  police  and  the  directors  ;  how 
he  had  removed  it  from  the  safe  and  concealed 
it  in  a  certain  receptacle  under  the  floor  of  his 
sitting-room,  known  only  to  himself  and  his 
daughter;  and  how  he  had  enjoined  her  to 
assume  the  charge  of  it,  in  case  of  any  accident 
occurring  to  him  from  his  expected  encounter 
with  the  burglars  His  daughter,  he  added,  had 
then  gone  to  her  room,  and  he  was  left  alone. 


26o  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

''Well,  and  what  happened  then?"  inquired 
Mr.  Dumling,  encouragingly. 

'*  I  have  been  an  opium  eater  for  seven 
years,"  said  John,  raising  his  pale  face  and  con- 
fronting the  assemblage,  which  stirred  and 
murmured  at  the  confession.  "  It  has  been 
the  greatest  curse  of  my  life.  I  hope,  with 
God's  help,  to  conquer  it  from  this  time  forth. 
But,  on  that  night,  after  my  little  girl  had  gone 
to  bed,  I  took  a  larger  quantity  than  usual. 
Then,  after  a  while,  I  thought  I  saw  my  wife  in 
the  room.  We  had  been  separated  for  ten 
years.  I  was  full  of  joy  that  she  had  come 
back.  I  spoke  to  her;  but  she  did  not  answer. 
I  tried  to  take  her  into  my  arms,  but  she  eluded 
me.  She  went  out  of  the  door,  and  I  followed 
her.  She  passed  out,  and  down  the  street ;  I 
pursued  her,  but  could  not  overtake  her.  I  for- 
got every  thing  but  her.  I  did  not  notice  in 
what  direction  I  went,  but  only  that  she  was 
before  me.  It  was  night,  and  then  day  again, 
and  then  once  more  night.  Gradually  she 
seemed  to  get  further  away  from  me  ;  at  last  I 
saw  her  only  by  glimpses.  I  seemed  to  be 
among  many  people,  who  got  between  us  and 


JOHN  PA R MELEE 'S  CURSE.  261 

parted  us.  I  spoke  to  them,  and  tried  to  explain 
what  I  sought  and  hoped ;  but  they  cried  out 
at  me,  and  I  was  thrown  down,  and  fell ! " 

This  story  was  told  in  a  manner  and  with  a 
voice  that  held  the  audience  silent ;  and  when 
the  narrator  paused  the  subdued  movement 
that  followed  testified  to  their  attention. 

The  prosecuting  attorney,  however,  wished 
to  know,  with  an  air  of  disgust,  whether  this 
sort  of  thing  was  to  be  regarded  as  evidence. 
"  Even  assuming  it  to  be  all  bona  fide,''  he 
added,  "we  did  not  come  here  to  listen  to  a 
lunatic's  account  of  his  own  lunacies." 

"  The  test  of  your  genuine  lunatic,"  retorted 
the  ex-senator  suavely,  "  is  his  clinging  to  his 
delusions  in  the  teeth  of  exposure.  Go  on, 
Mr.  Parmelee." 

John  then  gave  the  history  of  his  kidnap- 
ping by  the  Blackmer  gang,  and  of  what 
occurred  in  the  room  where  he  was  confined. 
This  was  listened  to  with  earnest  interest. 
Following  it  came  the  story  of  his  unexpected 
rescue  by  the  boy  Bob,  and  his  retreat  to  the 
shelter  of  the  East  River  pier.  It  was  all  news 
of  the  raciest   description  to  Fred  Tyrrel,  and 


262  JOHN  FARM  ELBE'S  CURSE, 

caused  him  to  reconsider  his  hasty  judgment 
of  the  red-headed  little  adventurer.  But  alas  ! 
What  had  become  of  him  ?  The  most  search- 
ing inquiries  had  failed  to  reveal  his  where- 
abouts. 

''  Really,"  said  the  attorney  for  the  prosecu- 
tion, ironically,  as  he  rose  to  conduct  Parme- 
lee's  cross-examination,  ''  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  reading  a  chapter  from  a  sensational 
novel  !  "  But  his  effort  to  shake  the  cashier's 
testimony  met  with  very  small  success;  and, 
after  half  an  hour  of  unavailing  badgering,  he 
was  fain  to  let  him  stand  down. 

Sophie  Parmelee  was  next  summoned  to  the 
stand  ;  and  though  much  of  her  evidence  w^as 
merely  confirmatory  of  her  father's,  the  sim- 
plicity and  quaint  emphasis  with  which  she 
delivered  it  made  a  strong  impression.  But 
the  important  part  of  her  testimony  referred 
to  the  vicissitudes  of  the  famous  black  satchel. 
She  traced  its  history  down  to  the  time  of  her 
falling  asleep  on  Friday  night,  and  there  the 
chronicle  stopped.  On  Saturday  morning 
the  satchel  had  disappeared.  ''  But,"  added 
Sophie  of  her  own  motion,  and  with  an  earn- 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  263 

estness  which  made  everyone  smile,  "You 
mustn't  think  that  Bob  took  it !  I  like  him 
very  much,  and  I  know  that  he  is  honest !" 

The  other  side  prudently  declined  to  detain 
this  witness,  and  Mr.  Dumling  called  for  Mrs. 
Parmelee.  Her  testimony  was  wanted  as  to 
the  writing  of  the  letter  of  warning  to  her  hus- 
band, and  the  cause  that  led  to  her  doing  so. 

Sallic  entered  on  the  arm  of  Fred  Tyrrel. 
It  was  wonderful  what  a  change  had  been 
wrought  in  her  appearance  by  the  alterations 
in  her  dress.  She  wore  a  blacl:  gown,  simply 
made,  with  white  muslin  at  her  throat  and 
black  lace  on  her  gray  hair.  Her  face  was  pale 
and  delicate,  and  looked  neither  old  nor  young, 
but  had  a  dreamy  absence  of  definite  expres- 
sion. Her  dark  eyes  traversed  the  great  court- 
room full  of  people  with  an  abstracted,  unsee- 
ing gaze,  and  she  took  her  place  in  the  witness 
box  as  quietly  as  if  she  were  in  solitude. 

At  her  entrance,  John  Parmelee  had  started 
up  in  the  dock,  trembling  uncontrollably;  his 
eyes  devoured  her,  and  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks.  She  did  not  notice  him  at  first ;  but 
when   the  ex-senator,  in  his   deep  voice,  said : 


264  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

*'  Mrs.  Parmelee  look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar.  Do  you  know  him?"  Her  glance,  after 
straying  uncertainly  here  and  there,  at  length 
settled  upon  her  husband's  face. 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her,  and  his  voice 
broke  in  sobs:  *' Sallie  I  Sallie,  my  darling!  I 
am  here!  " 

She  gazed  at  him,  motionless,  for  a  space  of 
time  that  seemed  to  the  spectators  endless.  At 
last,  with  a  strange,  wavering  cry,  which  was 
long  remembered  by  those  who  heard  it,  she 
tottered  down  from  the  stand  and  went  to  him. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  prevent  their  em- 
brace ;  and,  before  it  was  ended  she  lay  un- 
conscious in  her  husband's  arms.  She  was  car- 
ried back  to  the  waiting  room,  and  her  testi- 
mony had  to  be  postponed. 

Here  ensued  a  pause,  and  no  one  seemed  to 
know  exactly  what  was  to  be  done  next.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  rose  and  addressed  him- 
self to  the  judge. 

"  The  spectacle  of  human  emotion,  and  of 
the  domestic  affections,  is  always  interesting 
to  right-minded  people,"  he  observed  ;  *'  but  I 
don't  know  that  they  are  of  much  assistance  to 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE,  265 

US  in  determining  what  has  become  of  the  funds 
of  the  Tisdale  Bank.  Does  the  defense  pro- 
pose to  call  any  other  witnesses?  There  has 
been  a  person  described  as  Bob,  more  than  once 
alluded  to  in  the  depositions  of  former  wit- 
nesses, who  would  appear  to  have  acted  as  the 
dens  ex  macJiina  of  the  whole  business.  Would 
it  be  indiscreet  to  ask  my  learned  friend  on 
the  other  side  why  he  does  not  summon 
him?  " 

The  ex-senator,  suppressing  a  growl  of  irrita- 
tion, was  about  to  make  the  most  plausible 
retort  he  could  think  of,  when  he  was  interrupt- 
ed by  a  commotion  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
room,  from  the  midst  of  which  proceeded  a 
small  but  lusty  voice,  to  the  following  effect: — 

**  Here  I  is,  yer  honor!  I'se  Bob,  an'  I  got 
der  boodle  !  Le'me  git  up  der,  will  yer?  Yer 
can't  do  nothin'  without  me,  an'  don't  yer  forgit 
it !" 

This  apostrophe,  in  the  words  of  the  news- 
paper report  next  day,  fairly  electrified  the 
audience;  and  the  impression  was  deepened  by 
the  red-headed  urchin's  deposition,  given  as  it 
was  with  a  humor  that  made  the  hearers  laugh, 


266  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

and  at  the  same  time  with  a  clearness  and  point 
highly  refreshing  to  the  legal  mind. 

His  evidence  covered  all  the  gaps  in  the  pre- 
ceding testimony,  and  confirmed  whatever 
needed  confirmation  ;  and  his  report  of  what 
he  heard  and  saw  through  the  hole  in  the  wall 
practically  settled  the  question  of  Parmelee's 
innocence  and  Blackmer's  guilt.  It  may  be 
mentioned  here  that  the  latter  was  afterward 
convicted  on  the  confession  of  his  associates, 
Dick  and  Mike,  who  turned  state's  evidence  in 
retaliation  for  Blackmer's  having  left  them  in 
the  lurch. 

"  An'  now,"  concluded  Bob,  handing  over  the 
black  satchel  to  the  officer,  "  here's  yer  boodle, 
an'  precious  glad  I  is  ter  git  quit  of  it ;  it's 
weighed  on  me  heavy,  I  tells  yer?" 

"  Where  has  it  been  all  this  time  ?  "  his  honor 
inquired. 

''  Dat's  my  business,  jedge ;  I'se  got  my 
secrets,"  Bob  replied,  with  an  air  of  reserve.  "  I 
was  goin'  ter  give  it  ter  the  little  gal  in  der 
mornin',  but  I  had  ter  look  a'ter  dat  pa  o'  hern, 
an'  I  ain't  been  able  ter  git  aroun'  with  der 
blamed  old  thing  till  jes'  dis  minute  !" 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  267 

The  satchel  was  opened,  and  underneath  the 

brush  and  comb  and   the  little   nightgown,  the 

funds  of  the  Tisdale  Bank  were  found  intact,  to 

the  last  cent.  This  closed  the  examination,  and 

John  Parmelee  was  admitted  to  bail  on  his  own 

recognizance.  ^ 

****** 

Four  years  have  passed  since  the  above 
events  occurred. 

Sherman  left  for  Mexico  on  the  morning  of 
the  day  of  the  proceedings  against  Parmelee 
and  Blackmer,  and  therefore  without  learning 
of  his  former  friend's  fate.  He  got  on  very 
well  without  him,  and,  although  he  no  longer 
has  so  much  of  a  monopoly  of  Mexican  affairs 
as  formerly,  he  has  no  complaint  to  bring 
against  fortune ;  and  probably  imagines  that 
he  will  soon  retire  from  business  and  enjoy  his 
leisure.  It  is  also"  rumored  that  he  is  betrothed 
to  a  charming  young  senorita  of  Spanish  de- 
scent, the  daughter  of  a  man  eminent  in  the 
state.  But  the  issues  of  life  are  uncertain; 
and  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  die  in  har- 
ness, and  a  bachelor. 

Should   you    visit   Tisdale  now,  you  would 


268  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

find  John  Parmelee  to  be  really  an  old  man, 
with  white  hair  and  beard,  and  a  stoop  in  his 
gait.  His  face  bears  traces  of  deep  suffering, 
physical  and  mental  ;  but  its  expression  is 
nevertheless  peaceful,  and  not  unhappy.  He 
has  conquered  his  eyil  genius  ;  and  though  the 
struggle  was  severe,  and  left  scars  that  time 
can  not  obliterate,  the  victory  is  final,  and  has 
left  him  a  humble  and  thankful  man. 

His  wife  is  not  with  him  ;  that  is  to  say,  her 
bodily  presence  has  been  withdrawn.  Sallie  sur- 
vived her  return  to  the  home  of  her  youth 
scarcely  a  year.  Her  mind  and  body  were  both 
too  much  shattered  ever  to  recover  their 
former  health.  The  drug  which  had  been  her 
ruin  could  not  be  wholly  relinquished ;  but 
everything  was  done  to  minimize  its  ill  effects, 
and  to  support  and  cheer  her  in  her  seasons  of 
depression.  It  .  would  be  difficult  to  say 
whether  she  fully  realized  her  situation  ;  cer- 
tainly there  were  times  when  every  thing  seemed 
a  blank  to  her.  But,  again,  the  sound  of  her 
husband's  voice,  or  the  sight  of  his  face,  would 
cause  a  tender  gleam  to  come  into  her  eyes ; 
and  Sophie  never  failed  to  awaken  in  her  traces 


JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE.  269 

of  intelligence  and  love.  The  end  came  by 
imperceptible  gradations;  and  a  death  like 
hers,  so  softened  by  affection  and  care,  was 
hardly  like  a  separation.  John  Parmelee  prob- 
ably felt  that  she  was  more  really  parted  from 
him,  when  she  was  languishing,  forlorn  and 
homeless,  in  the  slums  of  the  great  city. 

Parmelee  is  no  longer  connected  with  the 
Tisdale  Bank.  He  retired  from  his  position  as 
cashier  on  the  death  of  his  wife,  receiving  a 
handsome  testimonial  from  the  president  and 
directors,  in  recognition  of  his  long  and  faith- 
ful service,  and  in  testimony  of  their  regret  for 
the  mistaken  attitude  assumed  toward  him  at 
the  time  of  the  supposed  burglary.  Parmelee 
now  has  a  comfortable  home  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Fred  Tyrrel.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
this  gentleman  always  had  the  intention  to  pro- 
vide for  the  cashier,  whenever  time  or  fortune 
should  render  him  unable  to  look  out  for  him- 
self;  but  he  perhaps  did  not  foresee  the  man- 
ner in  which  this  intention  would  be  brought 
to  pass.  But  the  little  black-eyed  child,  who 
had  always  been  his  favorite,  and  of  whom  he 
had  always  foretold  good  things,  developed  in 


270  JOHN  PARMELEE'S  CURSE. 

a  manner  to  more  than  fulfill  his  prophecies, 
The  sadness  and  loneliness  of  her  early  life 
deepened  and  sweetened  a  character  naturally 
strong,  faithful  and  magnanimous ;  and  she 
grew  up  slender  and  stately,  with  a  dark  beauty 
peculiar  to  herself.  A  year  ago,  a  love-match 
of  the  most  unmitigated  kind  terminated  in 
the  marriage  of  Sophie  Parmelee  and  Fred 
Tyrrel.  So  her  father's  home  is  hers,  and  it  is 
a  home  indeed. 

The  Tisdale  Bank  profits  by  the  services  of  a 
certain  red-headed  office-boy,  about  sixteen 
years  of  age,  known  to  his  employers  and  to  his 
many  friends  by  the  name  of  Bob.  He  is  clever, 
industrious,  and  in  the  highest  degree  trust- 
worthy; and  those  who  claim  to  be  good 
judges  of  character,  and  to  be  able  to  see 
further  than  most  people  into  a  millstone,  un- 
dertake to  say,  that,  in  due  time,  Bob  will  him- 
self become  cashier  of  the  time-honored  old  in- 
stitution which  John  Parmelee  served  so  many 
years. 

THE  END. 


TWO  CHARMING  NOVELS. 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  VOICE. 


By  Margaret  Russell  Macfarlane.     i  vol.,  i6nio., 
cloth.     Price,  $i.oo. 


The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  Germany,  and  the 
characters  are  drawn  from  life.  The  authors  style  is 
simple  and  direct,  and  the  story  has  a  special  interest  on 
account  of  the  information  it  gives  in  regard  to  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  a  type  of  German  society  rarely 
presented  to  the  novel  reader. 


RUHAINAH. 


A  Story  of  Afghan  Life.     By  Evan  Stanton,     i  vol., 
l6mo,  extra  cloth.     Price  $i.oo. 


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"  Pretty,  bright,  and  spirited,  with  a  clever  mingling  of 
war  and  love,  history  and  fiction,  faith  and  treachery,  and 
no  analysis." — The  Critic. 


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JUST  PUBLISHED. 


WHO  IS  GUILTY? 


A  NOVEL, 

By  Philip  Woolf,  M.  D.     i  vol.,  i6mo.,  cloth.    Price  $i. 


An  interesting  tale,  with  a  denoument  that  will  astonish 
the  reader. 


BY  THE   AUTHOR  OF    "AS   IT   WAS  WRITTEN.** 

MRS.    PEIXADA. 


By  Sidney  Luska.     i  vol.  i6mo.     Price,  $i.oo. 


"The  story  begins  with  the  very  first  page,  and  there 
is  no  let  up  till  the  end  is  reached.  Mr.  Lu  ka  has  the 
happy  faculty  of  holding  his  readers'  attention  through 
eve.y  page  of  his  books. 

"  The  author  is  a  wonderful  writer,  a  b^n  story  teller  ; 
his  stories  will  not  only  please  the  passing  moment,  but 
last  as  an  illustration  of  the  best  in  American  Literature." 
— Evening  Post,  Hartford. 


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At  Love's  Extremes. 


BY  MAURICE  THOMPSON, 

Author  of   "A  Tallahasse   Girl,"  "Songs   of   Fair 
Weather,"  etc.,  etc. 

1  ToL,  12mo.  Cloth.    Price,  $1.00. 

The  scene  of  the  story  is  laid  in  the  mountains  of  Ala- 
bama ;  it  is  a  thoroughly  American  tale,  as  strong  as  it  is 
picturesque. 

The  story  is  a  very  strong  one,  with  picturesque  sketching,  effective 
dramatic  situations,  and  most  admirable  character  drawing. — Boston 
Home  Journal. 

Crisp  and  fresh  in  style,  and  the  story  is  told  with  animation.— 
Brooklyn  Daily  Times. 

The  attractive  setting,  the  general  color,  and  the  excellence  of  parts 
of  the  action  make  the  novel  a  very  strong  one. — Boston  Globe. 

It  is  bright  with  descriptions  of  scenes,  and  spicy  with  mountaineer 
dialect.  .  ,  .  The  style  is  charming,  and  this  new  work  of  fiction 
will  be  read  widely  and  with  pleasure. — St.  Louis  Globe  Democrat. 

A  delightful  story,  elegantly  designed,  and  told  in  the  most  interest- 
ing manner. — Press^  Albany. 

The  author  has  blended  the  beautiful  and  romantic  in  graceful 
thought  which  charms  and  entertains  the  reader. — Southern  Agricul- 
turist. 


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The  "  Bar-Sinister    should  do  for  Mormonism  what  '*  Unclk 
Tom's  Cabin  "did  for  Slavery. — Newport  News. 


THE  BAR-SINISTER 

A  Social  Study. 


X  VOL.,  lamc,  360  PAGES.  EXTRA  CLOTH.    Price    -    -    $1.25. 


It  is  not  saying  too  much  to  declare  that  "The  Bar-Sinister" 
deserves  a  place  among  the  very  few  good  American  novels  of  an 
unusually  unproductive  season. — Christian  Union. 

"  The  Bar-Sinister  "  is  a  novel  which  will  attract  more  than  ordi- 
nary attention.  The  text  is  Mormonism,  the  bar-sinister  on  the 
escutcheon  of  this  great  republic.  The  characters  introduced  are 
every-day  people.  The  hero,  a  New  York  business  man,  who  goes  to 
Salt  Lake  City  with  his  wife  and  baby,  and  who  falls  a  victim  to  the 
enticements  of  the  "saints." — Christian  at  Work. 

A  well-constructed  story,  that  is  developed  by  a  plot  to  a  strong 
finale,  in  good  literary  form  and  with  a  pleasing  literary  style,  and 
that  will  be  read  with  the  greatest  interest  and  feeling — indeed  it  has 
the  power  to  inflame  public  opinion  as  no  other  with  its  purpose  has 
ever  done. — Boston  Globe. 

One  of  the  most  powerfully  written  books  of  the  season. — Lawrene* 
American. 

It  is  the  best  novel  of  the  summer. — Examiner^  N.  Y, 


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JUST   PUBLISHED. 


WITHOUT  BLEMISH, 

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Author  of  "  The  Bar-Sinister,"  etc.,  etc. 


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This  fascinating  volume,  from  the  pen  of  the  author  of 
*' The  Bar-Sinister,"  deals  with  a  vital  subject,  the  prob- 
lem of  the  negro's  future.  While  the  book  has  a  moral 
purpose  it  is  not  a  dry  dissertation,  but  like  her  story  of 
Mormon  life,  is  full  of  dramatic  action  and  thrilling  inci- 
dent. 


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NOVELS  BY  WILLIAM  WESTALL 


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i2mo.,  cloth,  new  style.     Price  $i.oo. 

There  is  an  old-time  fragrance  in  this  deHghtful  story,  blended 
•with  modern  freshness.  ...  Oh,  that  more  of  our  novelists  had 
as  masterly  an  execution  ! — Evening  Post. 

The  story  abounds  in  incidents  and  is  a  wholesome  one— Christian 
Intelligencer, 


RED  RTVINGTON. 

By  William  Westall.     i2mo,  cloth,   new  style.     Price 
$i.oo. 

The  plot  is  so  intricate  and  the  stor>'  's  so  nch  in  adventures  and 
episodes,  that  a  brief  summary  gives  \'0  ide\  ot  the  contents  of  the 
book. — Publisher'' s  Weekly. 

There  is  more  of  incident  and  advnture  in  this  story  than  in  many 
a  volume  five  times  its  size. — School  Journal. 


RALPH  NORBRECK'S  TRUST. 

By  William  Westall,    author  of   "  Red    Ryvington," 
"The  Old  Factory,"  etc.     i  vol.,  i2mo,  $i.oo. 

"  This  story  abounds  with  exciting  incidents,  the  characters  are  well 
drawn,  the  plot  is  well  constructed  and  the  story  weH  told,  holding 
the  interest  of  the  reader  to  the  end."— T/;^  Commonwealth^  Boston. 


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^'  One  op  thk  most  Powerful  Novels  of  the  Year." 

— Si.  Louis  RepubltcaHm 


AS  IT  WAS  WRITTEN. 

A  Jewish  Musician's  Story. 

By  Sidney   Luska. 


I  Volume  i6mo.  Extra  Cloth.     Price,    -     -    $i.oo. 


OPINIONS  OF  TH?5  PRESS. 

" '  As  IT  WAS  Written  '  is  certainly  a  work  of  no  common  sort. 
It  is  full  of  passion  and  virile  struggle,  and  will  make  its  mark.'' — 
George  Cary  Eggleston. 

"  Its  intensity,  picturesqueness  and  exciting  narration  are  in 
sharp  contrast  with  the  works  of  our  analytic  novelists." — E.  C.  Sted- 
MAN. 

"  It  is  safe  to  say  that  few  readers  who  have  perused  the  first  chap- 
ter, will  be  content  to  lay  the  book  down  without  finishing  it."— 
Christian  Union^  New  York. 

"  The  working  out  of  so  strange  and  abnormal  a  plot  without  any 
descent  into  mere  grotesqueness  is  a  triumph  of  art." — New  York 
Tribune. 

_"  It  is  vivid  without  floridness,  dreamy  without  sentiment,  exciting 
without  being  sensational." — The  Critic,  New  York. 

*' We  can  earnestly  advise  all  readers  who  care  for  a  novel  show- 
ing individuality,  power  and  thought,  to  read  As  IT  was  Written." — 
Brooklyn  Union. 

"  A  capital  novel.  ...  It  cannot  fail  to  impress  itself  as  an 
able  and  moving  dramatic  effort." — New  York  Times. 

"  Of  all  the  novels  that  have  come  to  us  this  season.  As  it  was 
Written  seems  the  most  likely  to  take  a  permanent  place  in 
literature.  We  hope  to  hear  from  Sidney  Luska  again." — Yale 
Courani. 

"  We  have  seen  no  book  of  late  years  to  which  the  term  absorbing 
in  interest  could  more  appropriately  be  applied." — Boston  Herald. 

*'  It  stands  apart  from  the  average  novel,  soon  invites  attention  and 
then  rivets  it.  .  .  .  Will  doubtless  be  extensively  read." — New 
York  Telegram, 


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**A  Literary  Enterprise  Unique  in  the  Annals  of  Publishing^ 


EDITED    BY    PROF.    HENRY    MORLEY,    LL.    D. 

A  series  of  weekly  volumes,  each  containing  about  200  pages,    clear, 
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NOW       READY. 
I— My  Ten    Years'   Imprisonment.    By  Silvio 

Pellico. 

2-Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage.    By  Lord  Ryron. 
3— The  Autobiography  of  Benjamin  Frankiinii 

4— The  Complete  Angler.     By  Isaac  Walton. 
5— The  Man  of  Feeling.     By  Henry  Mackenzie. 

6— The  School  for  Scandal  and  the  Rivals.    By 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan. 

7-Sermons  on  the   Card,    and   other    Dis- 
courses.   By  Bishop  Latimer. 
8-Plutarch's  Lives  of  Alexander  and  Caesar. 
9— Castle  of  Otranto. 
lO-Voyages  and  Travels.    By  Sir  John  Mandemlle. 

\  I— She  Stoops   to  Conquer,  and  The  Cood- 

Natured  Man.     By  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

12— The  Adventures  of  Baron  Trenck.   Trans- 
lated from  the  German  by  Thomas  Holcroft Vol.  i. 

I  3— Vol.  2. 

I  4— The  Lady  of  the  Lake.     By  Sir  Walter  ScoiT. 

1 5-Selections  from  the  Table-Talk  of  Martin 

Luther.     _  ^     t        r, 

16— W'sdom   of  The  Ancients.    By  Lord  Bacon. 

17— Francis   Bacon.     By  Lord  Macauiay. 

1 8-Lives  of  the  English  Poets,  Waller,  Milton, 

Cowley. 
19-Thoughts  on   the   Present    Discontents 

and  Speeches. 
20-The  Battle  of  the  Books  and  other  short 

pieces. 

21 — PoeiTIS.    By  George  Crabbe. 

22-Herodotus,  Egypt  and  Syria. 
23-Hamlet.    By  Shakkspeare. 

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